


Relationship Risk Assessment and Research

by lettered



Series: How Not To Be A Cliché [3]
Category: The Avengers (2012)
Genre: Anal Play, Blow Jobs, Consent Issues, Consent Play, Dirty Talk, Dubious Consent, Enemas, F/M, Felching, Kittens, Light Bondage, Rimming, Snowballing, Spreadsheets, Verbal Humiliation, Vibrator
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2012-09-13
Updated: 2012-09-13
Packaged: 2017-11-14 03:27:38
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 51,694
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/510835
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/lettered/pseuds/lettered
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Pepper’s trying to run a company, maintain a relationship, and still have her own life.  Tony’s just trying to be a good person.  AKA the one in which Tony won’t shut up about Pepper’s vagina and Pepper has a backstory.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Relationship Risk Assessment and Research

**Author's Note:**

> Warnings: dirty talk, a spreadsheet, a vibrator, anal play, an enema, rimming, a blow-job, snowballing, light bondage, light humiliation, felching, consent play/RACK, sex scenes of epic length and unnecessary proportion, seriously, they’re too long, a kitten  
> Notes:  
> 1) Thanks to my_daroga for listening, and jad and aki_hoshi for spreadsheet help.
> 
> 2) This takes place directly after [Action Items for the Morning After](http://archiveofourown.org/works/489094), but since it’s primarily PWP, you probably don’t really have to read that one to get this one. This occurs in the same universe as [Responsible Science](http://archiveofourown.org/series/21267), but there aren’t many points of connection.
> 
> 3) This fic is sprawling and shapeless and bulky beyond all belief. And 50,000 words of basically PWP? It really should be cut and trimmed and fine-tuned, but I didn’t really write it to be a good story. I did it to let off a bunch of steam, and because serious stories I’m trying to write were stressing me out. I'm sure many people think that there should a hard line difference between "Stories" with a capital S and rambles that are a lot more like "here are my thoughts lemme show you them and god, isn't that hot?" But the problem is I have an easier time expressing my thoughts in the form of fiction. So I'm sort of sorry I called it a story. But sort of not because it's still a story, just not a very good one. So idk have fun.

*

After the attack of the drones (that’s what Tony called it) at the Stark Expo, Iron Man held a press conference. Reporters asked about the Expo, the drones, Vanko, Hammer, the Iron Man suit, the arc reactor technology, the future of Stark Industries, and its current CEO. Pepper had given him notes addressing each of these points, including the last.

“I have full confidence in Miss Potts’ ability to run Stark Industries,” Tony said, in response to the question from _USA Today_. “In fact, she’s been running it for the last year and a half, or did you think I was doing it from my suit?”

Then a guy from _L.A. Times_ asked about integrating technology with Pharmcorp, and Tony frowned. “Sorry, wait,” he said into the microphone. “I thought we weren’t done with questions about Miss Potts.”

“What does the board think of her position?” called out _Parade_ , and, “Is it temporary?” MSNBC wanted to know.

“I meant interesting questions about Miss Potts,” said Tony, “not stupid questions.” He looked down at the press from his table on the dais. “In answer to the incredibly pertinent question no one is intelligent enough to be asking, yes. Virginia Potts is my girlfriend. As of seventeen hours ago, we’re very happily dating.”

The press went wild.

Tony smiled.

*

The first man in Pepper’s life was Hank.

He was a twenty-year-old high school drop-out who smoked a lot of pot. Hank had thick chestnut hair and a large spider web tattoo on his shoulder. He’d said it hurt like a bitch.

Pepper was sixteen, a senior in high school (she’d started early, then skipped a grade), class president, Homecoming royalty (though not Queen), and a top member on the debate team. She’d used a full two days of pay from working at the movie theater to afford her membership and registration to Future Business Leaders of America.

She wore her hair as big as possible in those days, with short skirts over leggings and big shirts that went off the shoulders. Everyone still said she was ‘such a nice girl’—a little coltish, maybe a little smart-mouthed—but still the sweetheart of her high school, where nine percent went to college. The problem was that Pepper was bored out of her mind.

Enter punk, sometimes thrash metal, her first taste of whiskey, her first cigarette, and Hank. Hank’s dad had left his family when he was young and his mother was a drunk; Hank had three younger sisters and was kinder and gentler with them than nuns were to orphans, even though he pretty much treated everyone else like shit.

Hank had big ideas and a small view of the world; he’d had a hard life and all Pepper wanted to do was take care of him. No one understood him like she did; she was the one who read all of his lyrics (editing them as she went) and listened to all of his dreams. He’d told her once he wanted to get under everyone’s skin—yeah, he wanted to piss them off, but he wanted to get under, _all_ the way under, under the shells in which people hid and the walls which people built, into the place where things were real and could be beautiful again. He just wanted a place where people were honest, he said, and people stopped caring about shit that didn’t matter.

Pepper didn’t know where that place was and in retrospect, she wasn’t sure she actually cared. She just liked that it was different than what other people were saying, that it felt more passionate and more bald. She may or may not have been a fan of _Catcher In the Rye_.

They had sex for the first time in the back of his pick-up truck, and she bled rather more than she had heard was normal. She thought that _Romeo and Juliet_ was juvenile and trite, but wanted to be doomed to love him forever anyway. 

“You’re not going to fix him,” her best friend, Stacie, said.

“You’re looking for trouble,” said her favorite teacher.

“You’ll end up like me,” said her mother. “Fat lot of good it’ll do you.”

Eight months later it had become pretty clear that Hank was not actually looking for the place he always talked about; and that he was either going to live with his mother forever or become the sort of person who kept dead squirrels hanging outside his trailer. It wasn’t why Pepper broke up with him. She broke up with him because she was tired of listening to his thrash band play the same three chords; she was tired of him repeating the same conversation every time he smoked pot, and because she was tired of the fact that he never asked her about her opinions or her dreams.

Hank hadn’t been a brilliant lyricist, but sometimes she still thought about a line from one of his better songs. It went like this:

_If you live for everything_  
You can never be the best  
But I can’t die for nothing  
So I’ll find one or two things  
And say fuck you to the rest 

*

Ellie was touching up Pepper’s makeup in the green room when Tony entered, finished with the press conference. “Thanks, Ellie,” Pepper said. “I can do it from here. You did a really nice job.”

“Go get ‘em,” said Ellie.

Tony turned and watched as Ellie left the room. Under pressure, Pepper probably would agree that Ellie had a fantastic backside, but right now it pissed her off that much more. Turning to the mirror, Pepper finished dusting on the foundation. 

“You’re covering up your freckles,” Tony said, when Ellie was gone. 

Pepper continued covering them up. “They don’t look good on camera.”

“Bet you a million bucks they do.”

Setting down the brush, Pepper leaned into the mirror to check everything.

“How are we on the Dow?” Tony asked.

“Rising,” said Pepper, and checked her teeth.

“How’s Wayland-Yutani?”

“Cooperating.” Pepper moved away to get her tablet.

“I know you didn’t get up on the wrong side of the bed.” Tony went over to the counter where the makeup was. 

“Girlfriend?” Pepper put down the tablet. “Really?”

“Aren’t you?” Picking up a brush, twirling it, he added, “Unless you’ll give a blow-job to just anyone who—”

“Did you have to announce it at a press conference?”

“I didn’t tell anyone about the blow-job. I swear.” Tony twirled the brush some more. “They would have found out eventually.”

“Eventually. Maybe when we’d been going out for more than five minutes.”

“You should have told me you wanted to keep it a secret.”

“I don’t want to keep it a secret.”

Tony kept twirling the brush. “I guess we’re not having sex in the green room.”

“Did you _think_ we were having sex in the green room?”

“Crossed my mind.”

Pepper put her hands on her hips. “I was going to go out there and answer questions about Hammer and the drone technology. I was going to discuss our relationship with Iron Man, then introduce our current contract work with Weyland-Yutani and Pharmcorp. I was going to turn a press conference that could have been solely focused on damage control into a sales pitch for the future of this industry, with Stark Industries pioneering the way and a dedicated leader at its helm. Now what do you think I’m going to do?”

Tony painted figures on the counter with the brush. “Scold?”

“I’m going to spend the next forty-five minutes being someone’s girlfriend. That’s what I’m going to do.”

“Forty-five minutes. I’ve had shorter relationships.”

“Do you think I’m going to get a single question now that’s _not_ about my love life? Do you think anyone will want to hear a single thing that I have to say, now that I’m going out with Tony Stark?”

“What’s the problem?” He finally looked up from the brush. “Can’t handle it?”

“I can handle it.”

“Great. No big deal. Have fun.” Tossing the brush on the counter, he turned to leave.

“Tony.”

“Sure you’ll do great, Pepper.”

Pepper followed him, grabbed his arm. 

Turning back towards her, he said, “I haven’t had a girlfriend since—ever. That’s not true. Since I was six.”

“This isn’t about you.” Pressing her lips together, she let him go. “I’m glad you’re happy about it.”

He looked away, grimaced, then looked back at her. After a long moment, he said, “I wasn’t thinking about your press conference.”

“I know.”

“Do you? I’ll try to think about your press conferences in the future. I probably still won’t, though. Fair warning.”

It was probably as much of an apology as she was going to get. “What kind of bribery did it take to convince your six-year-old girlfriend to date you?”

“She wasn’t six years old.”

“Older woman?”

“I built her a robot.”

“I already feel sorry for her.”

“Pretty sure she grew up to be a lesbian.”

“Doesn’t surprise me.”

He smiled wryly, without mirth. “I know how you can make it up to me.”

Pepper coughed and laughed at the same time. “How I can make it up to _you_?”

“Yeah. You wanna?”

Pursing her lips, she looked him over. “No sex in the green room.”

“Can you say I’m your boyfriend?”

Her eyes sort of bugged. “At the press conference?”

“Wherever. Yes. There. Here. Right now.”

“What do you—”

“I really, really like that word.” His hand touched her waist, then slid around to the small of her back. “I like it a lot. Boyfriend. Sounds almost platonic, doesn’t it? Like I didn’t have my head between your thighs last night.”

“No sex,” Pepper said, because he was pulling her in closer. Closer and closer and closer.

“Like I didn’t fuck your cunt with my tongue,” Tony murmured, his voice very low against her ear. “Just—your boyfriend. Your friend who’s a boy. Who’s yours.”

Pepper extricated herself from his grasp. “I’ll think about it,” she said.

*

Then next man in Pepper’s life was Gene Toward, whom she met through one—several, actually—of her college jobs. Pepper made her way through Columbia University mostly on merit scholarships, but she also needed to eat, so she worked at an antique bookstore not far from campus, and in her spare time walked dogs. 

One day a gentleman of about seventy years of age or so wanted to enter the shop with his little Schnauzer—absolutely verboten, considering the books. The gentleman put up a fuss; Pepper soothed him, soothed the Schnauzer, walked the Schnauzer while the gentleman browsed, and by the time she got back, had both the Schnauzer and the gentleman eating out of her hand.

The gentleman’s name was Gene, but it simply did not occur to Pepper that he was Gene _Toward_ , founder of Gene Chicken and The Toward Organization, and son of E. Y. Toward, founder of _Toward Magazine_. Gene came back to the bookshop several times—always with the Schnauzer, Becephalus. When he began to ask her to tea after her shift, he was so significantly older that she saw no harm in it. Besides, he was interesting, if a little bit eccentric. If he had been forty-five years younger, she would have dated him.

Actually. She probably would have dated him even if he’d been just twenty-five years younger. (“You have terrible taste in men,” her college friends told her.) 

When Gene asked her to “a little get-together” at “the house of a friend,” she came in a little cotton sundress to what turned out to be a formal ball jam-packed with business moguls and dotted with Hollywood celebrities and ambassadors from other countries. Gene didn’t notice anything wrong with her attire, so Pepper pretended that nothing _was_ wrong with her attire. She smiled and made nice the whole time. That was how she met Feng, her second serious boyfriend.

When Pepper graduated from school, the curator (Nic Fratelli, of the Fratellis) of the Toward Family Collection died. Nic had been ninety-six, and he had held the position for most of his adult life. The proper successor, considering the prestige of the collection, should have been someone past middle-age with a considerable amount of experience under their belt. Pepper happened to know that two curators of famous museums and one of her own professors were interested in the job.

She knew because Gene told her, when he offered her the position. Pepper knew that she should refuse, on the grounds of her inexperience. She was nineteen and he was offering her a bigger salary than those of pretty much everyone she’d known in her childhood _combined_.

Pepper didn’t refuse.

*

After the second press conference, Pepper got into the back of the car with Tony.

“You’re coming over?” he asked, as she closed the car door.

“Someone has to change your bandages,” she said, checking the messages on her phone.

“Someone has to have sex with me too,” said Tony. “You just never offered before last night.”

“I’m not offering now,” said Pepper, deleting the email from Amed.

“You’re not? Are you saying I should seek comfort elsewhere?”

“Is that a threat?” Pepper deleted the email from Nathan too.

She deleted the emails from _People_ and _The Wallstreet Journal_ , and then Tony said, “No. Not a threat.”

“Good.” She moved the newest email from _Parade_ into her ‘to reply’ folder.

“I wasn’t joking though,” he said, and put his hand just above her knee, just below the line of her skirt. “Your press conference got me hot.”

“I’m sorry Happy,” Pepper said, sorting more of her email. “You know how he gets just after dropping bombs on the press.”

“I’ve never refused to drive to the vet,” said Happy, stopping at a red light. “We could always get him fixed.”

“It wasn’t my bomb on the press,” said Tony, rubbing a circle with his thumb on the inside of her knee. “It was your bomb on the press.”

“You mean the contract?”

“The contract announcement was strangely seductive.” His hand slid up a little, and Pepper went on sorting email.

“Or did you mean the two-year plan?”

“The two-year plan outline . . .” Tony paused, his hand moving up farther, pushing at her skirt. “Also erotic.”

Pepper pulled an email into an appointment, and said, “Or maybe you meant the part where I called you my boyfriend.”

“Pepper.” Turning toward her in the car seat, Tony pushed his hand between her thighs, under her skirt, and didn’t do anything. Just spread the palm of his hand on her inner thigh, wrapped his fingers around as much of it as he could, and held on.

Pepper kept touching things on her phone, even though she knew that Tony was looking at her, even though her face was bright pink, even though she couldn’t even read the subject lines of the emails any more.

Tony’s thumb began stroking the top of her thigh, inside her skirt. “Pepper,” he said again. “I love being your boyfriend. Love it. I want to do it—all the time.”

“I’m sorry, Happy,” Pepper said again. She kept her voice steady, and her fingers moving on her phone. “I don’t know what’s gotten into him.”

“So, this guy is your boyfriend?” Happy said.

“I probably shouldn’t answer that,” said Pepper. “It might encourage him.”

Tony’s hand squeezed her thigh. He just kept looking at her.

“Couldn’t you do better?” Happy asked. “I mean, I know plenty of nice fellas.”

“Pepper doesn’t want nice fellas,” Tony said. “Do you.”

It wasn’t a question, but Pepper answered anyway. “I certainly don’t want anyone to feel me up in the backseat of a car,” she said, scrolling through her texts, now. “I had enough of that in high school.”

“Did you?” Tony squeezed her thigh again. “Tell me about it.”

“How far did you say the vet was?” Pepper asked.

“Tell me about all of it,” said Tony. “Every time someone felt you up. High school Pepper. Did you wear your hair up? Bet you were cute. Bet you . . .” He didn’t finish, his other hand finding the loose hair that curled around her ear, brushing it a little, gently.

“Mile or two,” said Happy.

“You drove them all crazy,” Tony breathed, his voice very soft.

That was the precise moment Pepper could feel wet pool between her thighs, though it wasn’t like she hadn’t been gearing up to it. It was just the moment she could _feel_ it; it was also the moment he took his hand out from between her legs and sat back in his own space. “Don’t need the vet,” he told Happy. “I don’t have a cat or dog. Well, I had a cat, once. Two days. Gave it to Pepper. Or rather, she took it. So, Pepper has—”

“Don’t finish,” said Happy.

“—a pussy,” said Tony, “but technically it’s mine.”

“How’s Kitty?” said Happy, because he’d been driving Tony for years and years, and Pepper almost as long.

“Miserable,” said Pepper. “She’s on sub-cutaneous fluids.”

“Leona?” said Happy.

“She’s a life-saver.” Pepper finally allowed herself to check the stocks.

Her panties were ruined anyway.

“What’s a Leona?” Tony asked.

“You had dinner with her,” Pepper said.

“How am I supposed to remember one little—”

“At least once a year,” Pepper said.

Tony frowned. “Sub-cutaneous fluids? Kitty? Really?”

Pepper switched from the NASDAQ to the S&P. “I didn’t know you cared.”

“I care. I just—is that us?” He leaned over.

The side of Pepper’s mouth twitched, and she showed him her phone. “That’s us.”

Tony’s hand wrapped around her wrist, bringing the phone closer to him as he leaned in, his face along-side hers so they could look at the stocks together. “Thought it took nine months to have children,” he said.

Pepper laughed. “You think you’re the daddy?”

“Those aren’t my babies?”

“Excuse me, who got the contract with Weyland-Yutani?”

“Oh, is that why we’re at 640 a share? I thought it was killing a drone army.”

“What does killing anything have to do with it?”

“Face of the company.”

“Iron Man is not a face. It’s a piece of metal with holes poked in it. Or maybe it was _Stark Expo_ that—”

“A piece of metal with—”

“—because that was obviously a roaring success.”

“Stark Expos have set a technological precedent—”

“And yes, a piece of metal with holes; it can’t even _smile_ much less—”

“—for decades; you know I don’t like tooting my father’s horn, but—”

“—a historical precedent with flying cars?”

“—they will be again, considering I’m that much more qualified than he was to—”

“—and that perpetual, metal-mouthed frown.”

“Oh my God,” said Tony. “Did you just insult my suit’s _mouth_?”

“I’d say get a room,” said Happy, “but I guess I’m driving you there.”

*

Feng was the third man in Pepper’s life, and he was nothing at all like Hank. He was smart, kind, responsible, wealthy, and ridiculously upper class. 

“And boring,” said Gene.

“He isn’t boring,” said Pepper. “He climbs rocks.”

“Rocks,” said Gene. “I see how that’s terribly intriguing.”

Pepper had lunch with Gene regularly on Sundays. Sometimes they went to a café, or the little Vietnamese place a couple blocks away, but more often they sat in his rose garden and had sandwiches. “Climbing rock doesn’t have to be interesting to me,” Pepper pointed out. “And it certainly doesn’t have to be interesting to you.”

Gene had a shock of white hair and shaky hands. Sometimes they talked about him—he’d been a bastard for most of his life, he’d told her, which was why none of his sons cared to visit these days. More often, he was interested in talking about her: he wanted to know about her classes, her plans for the future, even her love life. Pepper found that she could talk to him about things she felt she couldn’t discuss with her college friends. After all, she should have been grateful and happy. Feng was a perfect boyfriend.

“What about your mother?” asked Gene. “Is it interesting to her?”

“He’s not meeting my mother,” Pepper said.

“And why is that?”

Pepper looked at her hands. “She’ll say I should get married.” 

“So spake the dream of so many young women raised in the fifties,” said Gene.

“My mother shacked up with a drug addict ex-marine who ditched her before I was born,” said Pepper. “Now she lives on welfare in a trailer, and she never finished high school.”

“And somehow you marrying the first smart young man you see is going to fix that.” Gene wasn’t looking at her. He was looking at his roses, fondling the head of one with a gentle, shaking hand. 

Pepper watched him touch the rose. “I don’t want to screw up.”

“That’s too bad,” said Gene, letting go of the plant, “because you’re going to. You’re going to fuck it all up. Worse than you can even dream.”

Smiling a little, Pepper looked at him at last. “This is why I befriend my elders, so they can give me good advice.”

Gene smirked. “You didn’t befriend me because I’m your elder,” he said. “I friended you because you’re a pretty young thing that doesn’t take any nonsense.”

“I’ll have you know, I take plenty of nonsense.”

“Not when it matters.” The smile fell away. “Virginia, you can’t fix your mother’s life. You can’t even fix your own. Stop trying to set the whole deck.”

“I’m not trying to set the deck,” said Pepper. “I’m just trying to play the hand I’ve been dealt.”

“Well,” said Gene, “then stop trying so hard to win.”

Pepper raised her brows. “Am I supposed to want to lose?”

“No,” said Gene. “You’re supposed to play.”

“Is that what you did?”

Gene smiled. He looked very old, in that moment. “My dear, I’m no example.”

Pepper looked at the roses. “Feng is a nice guy.”

“More damning words were never spoken.”

“He says that I make him wish that he was dangerous.”

Gene looked out at the roses too. “What does he make you wish you were?”

“Normal,” said Pepper.

*

By the time Happy got them home and Pepper started changing Tony’s bandages, Pepper had another hundred or so emails—and those were just the unfiltered ones. The press conferences had really done a doozy on the private sector (though when it came right down to it, military consultants still tried to contact her as well).

“You mean we got Happy all hot and bothered when we were in the back seat,” said Tony, “and now we’re not gonna follow through?”

“Happy’s not here,” Pepper said, laying on the new bandage.

“You want Happy to be here?” Tony frowned down at his phone, lifting it up so she could wrap the gauze with tape under his left arm. “Kinda kinky.”

“You’re the one who’s checking messages while I’m touching you all over,” Pepper pointed out.

“But I promise I’ll give great head when I’m through with this.” He just kept looking at the phone.

“Through with gazing lovingly at my stocks?”

“Our stocks. Ow.” She’d patted the gauze not quite gently. He arched his back. “Tape itches.”

“Our stocks?” Pepper asked, scratching the skin around the tape. That wasn’t quite gentle either.

Tony sucked in a breath. “Phenomenal head. And the things I can do with a clitoris. You should see.”

“I’ve seen.” Turning away, Pepper started packing up the first aid equipment.

“You felt. You didn’t see. And anyway, did you feel what I can do with my finger on it while my tongue is all the way inside your pussy? Bet I can find your—”

“Really,” Pepper said, zipping up the first aid kit. “Our stocks? Maybe you’re taking this dating thing a little far. We’re going out, not splitting all our possessions fifty-fifty.”

“You don’t wanna share our shares?” Tony frowned back down at his phone. 

“The shares belong to their shareholders. Which means my shares belong to me.”

“Well, yes, but it’s our company. Plus, I just happen to own a controlling interest.”

“I don’t care who owns the company. I care who runs the company.”

“Um.” Tony scrolled through his phone. “So that’s your PA, right? It’s tradition that the executive assistant is in charge of the company; didn’t you know? Who is your assistant anyway?”

Snorting, Pepper picked up her own phone. “You have that meeting with Fury.”

“I wasn’t finished talking about your clit, though,” said Tony, putting his phone aside.

Pepper was just getting started on her own phone. “Yes, you were.”

“Okay, if I was, I wasn’t finished talking about how I _love_ sucking on your—”

“Yes, you were.”

“No, okay, I know that I wasn’t finished with that part, because I actually hadn’t even started talking about your tits yet.”

“Is sex all you think about?”

“How long have you known me?”

“Far too long.”

“See?” Tony said. “You’ve known me all this time, and have I ever once talked about how glorious your tits are?”

“All the time.” Pepper surfed through her emails. “Or did you forget the first two years of our acquaintance?”

“I try to.” There was a little silence. “Can we just . . . pretend those years didn’t happen? Because if we’re really going to date, it’s sort of unfair that in any argument you could just whip out what an incomparable dick I was then, and that would be the end. You’d win. No point in arguing.”

“So,” said Pepper, opening the email from Senator Eskell. “You admit you were a dick.”

“A flagrant one.” Tony stood up, came toward her. “I want you.”

Pepper smiled down at her phone. “How much?”

“Um. Let me think. A lot.” His hand finding the small of her back, he pulled her in.

Pepper’s phone clinked against the arc reactor. “Careful,” said Pepper, still smiling down at her phone. “Sensitive equipment.”

“I like being inside you,” he whispered.

“Mm,” she said, and marked the email _important_.

“I’m sorry about the girlfriend . . . thing.” He kissed the spot by her ear. “At the press conference.”

“Mm-hm.”

“You said I was your boyfriend at yours.” He set his teeth around her earlobe, then tugged once, gently.

“Hm.” Pepper opened another email.

“You’re _teasing_ me.”

“Hm?”

“Say I’m your boyfriend again.”

“You’re obsessed,” she said, and marked that email _important_ too.

“Nothing wrong with a little obsession.”

There was almost definitely something wrong with a little obsession, because Tony never did get a little obsessed. Obsession was whole and complete for him. When he acquired a new toy, it was the only thing he talked about, only thing he cared about, only thing he paid attention to. His focus was intense and narrowly directed; sometimes something consumed him and quite literally seemed to be the only thing he could _think_ about for some given length of time: three days. Two weeks. He’d lasted two and a half months, once, before he lost interest. The only thing that didn’t fit the pattern was Iron Man.

“You’re not even reading that email,” Tony accused.

“You can put your tongue in my cunt,” Pepper told him, switching off her phone, “when you get back from your meeting with Fury.”

Tony stared at her. “Is that like eating my broccoli before getting my cake?”

“If that helps you go.”

“I’m going to tell Fury you called him broccoli,” Tony said.

“Have fun,” Pepper said, and kissed the side of his jaw.

*

At Columbia, Pepper had majored in business and minored in art history. She was extremely interested in art, “but not in the traditional way,” Carlos said. 

“There’s a traditional way to be interested in art?” Pepper said.

“Every time we look at a piece of art, you tell me how much it’s worth,” Carlos said. 

“It puts it in context,” she said. 

“Usually context involves ideas and techniques. Movements and styles. People, not price tags.”

“That’s one kind of context. There’s also the context of who bought it when and for how much.” 

Pepper couldn’t seem to stop herself from thinking that somehow, he was breaking up with her. She had begun dating Carlos after she broke up with Feng, and they’d been going out for a year and a half. She’d been working at Gene’s gallery for eight months, and it only seemed fitting that if Carlos was going to break up with her, he was going to try to make it about art.

Carlos was one of those tall dark and handsome broody types, the kind who read a lot of Byron and a lot of Shelley. She probably would not have looked twice at him; by the time she met him she was in her last year of college and ready for something different. But Carlos wore practically the same black clothes every day and drove a motorcycle, and when his father’s auto-repair shop from going under, he had dropped out of school to save the business. It should have been the self-sacrifice that sold her, and maybe it was, but a large part of it had to do with the fact that he was a mechanic who could quote Coleridge.

“People like to think of art as divorced from commerce, but it’s not,” Pepper went on. “Artists still have to make a living; that has as much of an impact on the work as anything else.”

“As much as emotion?”

Pepper had stopped looking at her hands when people said things she didn’t like. Instead, she held his eyes. “Are we having this discussion again? Are we seriously having this discussion?”

“I never know what you’re thinking,” he said.

“I’ll tell you what I’m thinking,” Pepper said. “You know what you have to do in order to find out what I’m thinking? You have to ask.”

“Why?” said Carlos. “Why can’t you just tell me?”

“Because how do I know what you want if you don’t—”

“It doesn’t matter what I want.” Carlos’s hand tightened on a wrench; then he let it go. They were standing in his father’s shop, and he was attractive like this—unbearably attractive, his coveralls slouched down around his waist, a muscle tank on top. “It doesn’t matter what I want,” he said again. “You don’t need to give me what I want.”

Her heart clenched inside her chest, and she moved closer to him. “You don’t have to sacrifice—”

“It’s not sacrifice.” Carlos gritted his teeth. “What I want is not what I _want_ from you.”

Pepper paused. “You realize that makes no sense.”

Carlos whirled toward her, radiated frustration. “I don’t _want_ you to be what I want. I want you to be you. You—you construct this—this _person_ you think I want you to be, and I don’t . . . how long have we been together? I feel like I don’t even know you.”

“Nineteen months.”

“Nineteen months.” Carlos ran a hand through his hair. “I see you give money to panhandlers. I see you pat dogs on the head; you send your manicurist flowers on her birthday; you remember all my cousins names. _I_ don’t remember all my cousins names; I have thirty of them.”

“Thirty-eight,” Pepper said.

“Thirty-eight.” Carlos turned away again.

“What?” said Pepper. “I’m not supposed to be nice? I’m not supposed to remember people’s names?”

“Remember all the names you want, Pepper. Life should go deeper than that. There’s—more to it than that.”

“So now I’m shallow. Because I remember all your cousins.”

“No. You just—you’re warm on top. You’re warm and you’re good and you’re—you’re everything. But underneath, sometimes I wonder if . . . underneath, you’re cold.”

Pepper looked at him a little while. There was grease across his shirt, and she couldn’t believe how much she liked it, how much she wanted him to get it all over her. She’d always loved the way he’d rocked her perfect world, but she guessed, deep down, he’d never really understood. “If I had only been trying to be the girl I think you want,” she said slowly, “I would have lied about the art. I would have told you it made me wildly passionate. I would have waxed poetic about it—I could have easily. Instead, I quoted historic market values.”

Carlos moved the wrench on the table, and didn’t say anything.

Pepper took one step closer. “That’s who I am, deep down,” Pepper said. “That’s my private self, the part I don’t let people see. But that’s not what you want, is it.”

Carlos stared moodily at the wrench.

Pepper just kept staring at him. “Art does make me wildly passionate. You do too. I can’t help it if I want to deconstruct the things I care for.”

Carlos moved the wrench again. “The problem is, I thought you _could_ help it.”

Pepper lifted her chin. “Everything else is just a clinical interest.”

*

When Tony got back from his meeting with Fury, they didn’t have sex.

In point of fact, when Tony got back from his meeting with Fury, Pepper didn’t even know it. Three and a half hours after he left, she realized she had expected him to be back sooner, at which point she told JARVIS to notify her when he returned.

“He has already returned,” JARVIS said.

Pepper stopped typing on her laptop. “When?” she asked.

“Thirty seven minutes ago,” said JARVIS, “and approximately twenty-two seconds.”

Pepper’s hands hovered above her keyboard. “Where is he?” she asked.

“His shop,” said JARVIS.

“What’s he doing?”

For a moment, JARVIS didn’t answer. “Sulking,” he finally said.

Pepper closed her laptop. “Is he drinking?”

“Not at the moment,” said JARVIS. “He has, however, prepared a glass of whiskey, of which he has consumed none. I do believe he doesn’t wish to be disturbed.”

“Thank you, JARVIS,” Pepper said, and went to go disturb him.

Tony was working on one of his robots. Pepper wasn’t sure which one, because whichever one it was was in pieces, spread out all around Tony, who was sitting on the floor. He didn’t look up when she came in, didn’t say anything when she came over. He just kept fitting various parts together and taking them apart in what looked to her like a completely arbitrary way, the way a child put blocks together and then knocked them down only to rebuild them. He had assured her plenty of times that it was just the way he worked.

Pepper thought about what to do. Before he’d left to see Fury, he’d been all over her. On the way home from the press conference, he’d been all over her. Before that, he’d been all over her, and _at_ the press conference, he’d called her his girlfriend in front of God, the press, and everyone—not to mention her mother, who had most likely been watching. Then he met with Fury and he wasn’t all over her. He wasn’t on her at all, and Pepper realized she’d wanted him to be.

She hadn’t liked how he’d just _announced_ their relationship to the world, but she was sort of happy about it, too. Tony Stark never announced his relationships to anyone. He’d never once called any of the various women he’d slept with, dated, or otherwise philandered with “girlfriends”. When the press asked about the women he was more serious about, he just said things like, “We’re good friends.” When Rhodey or Obadiah or people close to him had asked, he’d say things like, “That’s really none of your business,” and when Pepper had asked, he’d stared. “Why are you asking?” he’d asked once, so she had never asked again.

When Pepper really thought about it, she’d looked forward to him getting home. She’d looked forward to the sex, and she’d looked forward to the things he’d said he would do with her clitoris.

“Your flight to DC is seven tomorrow morning,” Pepper said. 

Tony glanced up at her, then picked up a pipe wrench, and started twisting a large coupling off a pipe.

“You get back Tuesday,” Pepper said. “You can take Wednesday off, but I have interviews scheduled for Thursday and Friday.”

Tony tossed the pipe on the floor. Standing up, he lugged the coupling over to one of his work benches. “Last I checked, you weren’t my assistant,” he said, thunking the coupling on the bench.

“Last I checked, you still couldn’t keep an appointment without one.”

Tony didn’t look at her, just picked up another wrench and started tinkering, and that was how she knew this was bad. He wasn’t telling her to get out, but he wasn’t asking her to stay; she’d long since learned that anything approaching sympathy or kindness at this point would be met with outright rejection. She didn’t know what Fury had said to him, but whatever it was, Tony hadn’t liked it.

Sympathy, however, was not the same as sex. She could still ask for sex; she could outright demand sex; she could set out to seduce him as long as it was not in the gentle way, and quite possibly he wouldn’t turn her away. She didn’t know for sure, however, and Pepper liked to be sure. 

Once Pepper had figured out the way that Tony worked, she’d always been able to do exactly what was needed to get what she wanted. The problem was that she hadn’t figured out the way he worked yet when it came to sex. Usually when he was in a mood like this, she just left him alone.

 _I’m not built for you,_ he had told her. _This isn’t going to work_.

She had told him that it would, and the fact that she didn’t know what to do now made her feel so incredibly guilty, like someone who had made a promise she could not keep, like someone who had spoken without full knowledge of the subject matter, like a student making a failing grade. She should know how to do this right. She should know whether she could push him now and kiss him, keep pushing him until he was up against a wall and her hand was between his legs. The worst part was, if he was any other man, she would have done it, and she hated that he made her doubt herself.

She loved that he made her doubt herself, because if he was any other man, she would have known exactly what to do—and she would already be bored.

“Check your messages,” Pepper said. “Rhodey, Laura, and Senator Lipmann called.”

Tony didn’t answer. 

“Have a good trip.” Pepper turned on her heel. “Call me when you get there safe,” she said, and left.

*

Pepper first met Tony Stark because he wanted to buy a Matisse from the Toward Family Collection and Pepper wouldn’t sell it to him. He initially sent Valeria, his assistant, to buy it for him at a ridiculous asking figure. When Pepper told her no, Valeria came back and offered twice as much as it would have sold for on auction. When Pepper still said no, Tony Stark came to see her at the gallery.

“Oh no,” Stark said, when Hilbert, Pepper’s assistant, showed him into her office. “I’m in the wrong place.”

“Mister Stark.” Pepper rose from behind her desk, recognizing him from television. In those days, he was usually cleanly shaven.

“I’m looking for Misses Potts,” Stark told Hilbert. “She should be old and crusty. A curmudgeonly type. I’m thinking Angela Lansbury, except with maybe more of a chin wobble.”

“Thank you, Hil,” Pepper said, and went to the door. “I can take it from here.” From what she had heard of Stark, she was already expecting trouble. Hilbert left, and she shut the door.

“We only just met, but okay,” said Stark. 

“I assume you’re here about the Matisse,” said Pepper.

“No. I’m here about lunch. Maybe dinner. Do you like dinner?”

“It isn’t for sale,” said Pepper.

“Just drinks, then. What’s your name?”

“Potts.” Pepper’s voice was bland.

“Hm.” That was the first time Pepper was on the receiving-end of his once-over, though it was not the last. “Valeria said you were the no-nonsense type.”

Pepper raised her brows. “Then she must have known her offer on the Matisse was nonsensical.”

“Hm,” Stark said again, lips twisting. “I had it on good authority that was twice market value.”

“It is,” said Pepper, “but the Matisse is not for sale.”

“Interesting,” said Stark. “That’s absolutely fascinating.”

Pepper went back around to other side of her desk. “If you’re interested in art, Mister Stark, there are plenty of good pieces on the market. I have plenty of contacts, and can put you or Miss Ramirez in touch with plenty of dealers more interested in selling than Mister Toward.”

Sitting down, Stark looked around. “You live around here?”

Pepper sat down also. “In the gallery? No.”

Stark’s mouth twitched. “Where you from?”

“The Midwest. How long have you been interested in Fauvism?”

“What’s that?”

Pepper smiled. “That’s the style of the painting you’re interested in buying.”

“Oh, I’m not interested in buying it anymore.”

“I’m glad,” said Pepper. “I would hate for you to be disappointed.”

“No,” Stark went on, “I’m interested in getting it for free. I think it would be a nice donation to the Stark Collection.”

Pepper swallowed a laugh. “Do you need a donation?”

“Uh-huh. Sure. I’m always strapped for cash. But also I just like it when people give me things. It means people truly care, you know?”

Pepper raised her brows. “Sometimes people donate just because they feel guilty. Or because some millionaires just don’t know what to do with all that money.”

“I agree.” Stark held her eyes with his dark ones. “Millionaires suck. Billionaires are pretty cool, though.”

“Luckily I work for a wealthy individual who does things with his money that are actually productive,” Pepper said.

“I feel that I’m being mocked and challenged. Am I being mocked? Because this is all very exciting.”

“Maybe a little. Do you even know what the painting looks like, Mister Stark?”

“Um. Is it anything like you with your hair down? Because if it is, I’m really looking forward to seeing it.”

“You’re going to have to wait a long time.”

“I’ll see it,” said Stark. “I’ll see the Matisse on my wall, too. Bet you drinks at the Ritz.”

“You’re on,” said Pepper.

*

Happy took Pepper back to her apartment, and took Leona home for her as usual. Alone in her apartment, Pepper fed Kitty and gave her her fluids, watered her little plant. She ate an early dinner, took down her hair, took a bath, and the whole time, kept her mind on the problem: Tony.

There was no getting around it: she was dating her former boss. Plenty of people—her mother and former boyfriends included—claimed she had been dating him for years, with none of the actual benefits of having a boyfriend. She knew what this looked like: this looked like the sad, sad story of the mousy little secretary who had lusted after her boss. When he finally became interested, she’d leapt at the opportunity not only to sleep with him, but to dominate his attention. Eventually he would get bored and she would be alone, and it would be just like the end to every other story that wasn’t a fairytale.

She knew that the way he had acted when he got back from his meeting with Fury didn’t mean he’d lost interest just yet. She was more worried about the way _she_ had acted.

She _wasn’t_ a story. Even if she had been interested in him off and on over the years, she had never secretly pined away for her boss. She’d never lain awake at nights wishing he was her boyfriend. It wasn’t until he’d made her CEO that she’d even begun to entertain the possibility, because then she _wasn’t_ a secretary, and he wasn’t her boss.

Entering into a relationship with him had been her choice. Leaving a relationship with him would be her choice also; she wouldn’t be tossed aside; she wouldn’t become just another cliché. She knew how to handle Tony. She’d always handled Tony—except when it came to sex.

 _You have no idea,_ Tony had said. _The kinds of things I’m into. The kinds of things I want._

After her bath, Pepper addressed the emails that couldn’t wait, then set out to address the problem just as if it were any other problem: she laid out the variables, and made a spreadsheet. Plenty of evenings had been spent this way: her hair in a towel, a glass of wine at her elbow, Kitty curled under her chair just behind her feet. This was how she’d organized their government contracts and their clients; this was how she sorted her stocks; this was how she prioritized Tony’s social engagements, and apparently—this was how she had sex.

It was a sex spreadsheet. That’s what Tony would have called it, because that was what it was.

She listed every kink she knew, and some she had to check up on online. The spreadsheet was divided into a sort of “his” and “hers”—she called the columns “performed by him (on me),” and “performed by me (on him)”. For some items the distinction wasn’t necessary (threesomes), and for others the language was a little wonky (“cross-dressing” wasn’t something you performed “on” someone, was it?), but it seemed logical enough. Pepper strove for clarity even when there was no one but her to see.

She ranked each kink according to how much she had enjoyed it with previous partners, how willing she was to do it with him, and the likelihood of him wanting to do it with her. For some she had no data, since she had never performed the kink before. For others, deciding his likelihood proved difficult. She ended up annotating it, because that was just the kind of person she was. 

It looked like [this](https://docs.google.com/spreadsheet/ccc?key=0Ah2o78NB0STgdEFFakh4cmxnVHppOXV6MWhFNWtZRFE#gid=0).

 

| Performed by him (on me) | Performed by me (on him)  
---|---|---  
Enjoyed | Willing | Likelihood | Notes | Enjoyed | Willing | Likelihood  
Dom | 4 | 7 | 8 | (i.e., I'd be sub) | 4 | 9 | 7? | (i.e., I'd be dom) seems unlikely he'd REQUEST it. (e.g. not Carlos) But if I just did it. Seems kind of "dominating" in bed so far, but obv can be made to submit outside of bedroom so worth trying?  
Sadism | (no data) | 3 |  7? | aka masochism (for me) | (no data) | 5 | ??? | depends. On if I had to hurt him or really really hurt him.  
spank | (no data) | 3.5 | 7 | (no data) | 3 | 3 | actually he deserves it but it just seems so porntastic. I mean what if he made me dress up like a naughty librarian.  
(naughty librarian haha) | 10 | 10 | 0 | (him dressing up. Likelihood = 0 b/c I'd be laughing too hard. He couldn't stay quiet in a library if he tried.) | 10 | 10 | 10 | (me dressing up. Hot)  
whip | (no data) | 4 | 6? | really depends on whip vs crop. Somehow less humilating than spanking? | 7 | 8 | 4? | crop only (eta: this worries me. Cf ego below)  
anal: fingering | 6 | 10 | 10 | 4 | 10 | 9? | operative question: does he catch?  
anal: penetration | 3 | 8 | 10 | (no data) | 10 | 6 | and if he does would he be embarrassed by me pitching  
strap-on | N/A | N/A | (no data) | 7 | 5? | (would I be embarrassed by me pitching?)  
anal: vibrators | (no data) | 8 | 7 | (no data) | 10 | 5? | is this different than just penetration? I guess  
anal: plug | (no data) | 7 | 8? | (no data) | 10 | 5? | if he just had to wear it. All day. If he's into sub and catching--but he doesn't have the *patience* to wear it all day (n.b. *if* he's into sub etc, how to make him actually follow through. Without getting bored. b/c oh god, to watch him squirm = 10  
anal: toys | (beads? Prostate diagram  
anal: fisting | (no data) | 1 | 9? | I mean does this count as sadism | (no data) | 6 | 3?  
anal: dp | (no data) | 1 | 6? | (no data) | 7 | 3?  
rim | (no data) | 6 | ? | (no data) | 4? | 5? | kind of unsanitary if you ask me  
enema | (no data) | 5 | 4 | (no data) | 7 | 4?  
vaginal: fisting | (no data) | 2 | 7? | why don't I just have a baby | N/A | N/A | N/A  
vaginal: dp | (no data) | 4 | 8? | N/A | N/A | N/A  
gag | 1 | 7 | 10 | (inconclusive) | 10 | 3 | ballgag: $49 handcuffs $36 shutting him up: priceless  
handcuffs | 6 | 6 | 10? | 9 | 9 | 7  
bond (other) | 4 | 6 | 9 | rope? Or those fuzzy cuffs? Spreader bar: http://en.wikipedia.org/wiki/Spreader_bar lol wikipedia | 7 | 9 | 7  
clamps | 1 | 3 | 7? | 6 | 9 | ??? | depends on s/m I guess  
threesome (+m) | (no data) | 3 | 10? | (dup) | (dup) | (dup) | though I suppose one could be at the performing vs receiving end of a threesome if D/s  
threesome (+f) | (no data) | 3 | 10? | (dup) | (dup) | (dup)  
blood | (no data) | 2 | 4? | (no data) | ?high? | :( | I don't understand how his ego got so big when his self-esteem is so low. I can't do this. thinking about it now I just kind of want to excise it from the spreadsheet  
water sport | (no data) | no idea | (no data) | :( | ditto although seems less likely.  
scat | (no data) | no idea | (no data) | no idea  
humil | (inconclusive) | ? | ???? | depends on how it's done | (no data) | 0-6 | ???? | You've been a bad bad boy? Is embarrassing. I couldn't truly dig in his sores. Then again, sometimes I WANT to. Just a little. Oh God  
cross-dressing | (no data) | 9.8 | 1? | (receiving = him crossing. [no data] ref: men I've been in relationships with, though of course I've seen it. It didn't do anything for me. Except eyeliner. OH GOD EYELINER | 4 | 7 | 9? | (performing = me crossing. But it was for Halloween? And willing is for a snazzy tux. No beard. …Unless it's a really excellent classy beard. I just mean, not a PLUMBER. …Unless it's a cute sexy boy plumber.)  
role-play | 9 | ? | ? | David was so good at it. And Syed! But he'd be so bad should he even try? | 2 | 4 | ? | not so good at pretending. But I mean I can dress UP. Just as long as I'm not supposed to be realistic b/c then I'd feel stupid  
C/B tort | N/A | N/A | N/A | (no data) | 6 | 5?  
sounding | N/A | N/A | N/A | (no data) | 2 | 2?  
exhibition | (no data) | 3 | 9 | depends on how public I guess | (dup) | (dup) | (dup)  
master/ slave | (no data) | 2 | 7? | (i.e., I'd be slave) I mean really this sort of stuff just seems like a bad porno waiting to happen | (no data) | 5 | 3?  
RACK (risk awareness consensual kink)  
cock ring | N/A | N/A | N/A | 9 | 10 | 7 | this seems more likely; despite the D/s elements it's also just kinky--more of just a sex toy than anything, so yes?  
edging | research?  
orgasm denial | 6 | 10 | 10 | I could imagine him going at this hardcore, but the problem is I get sort of antsy? I mean, eventually I'd just reach down and do it myself. So maybe not a 10 on willingness, idk | 10 | 10 | 7 | ha! Bet I can get him to beg.  
  
When Pepper was done, she turned off the computer and went to bed. In sleep she dreamt of how to color-code it, because that was also the kind of person she was.

*

For nearly two years after his first meeting with Pepper, Tony Stark pursued the Matisse. And seduced her boss.

“He’s a nice boy,” said Gene. “Don’t give him such a hard time.”

“He’s Tony Stark,” Pepper said, crossing her arms over her chest. “He’s not a nice boy.”

“It’s very endearing that you’re concerned for my welfare,” said Gene, “but I’m eighty-two. I think I can take care of myself.”

“He’s just after your painting,” said Pepper.

Gene just laughed his dry, rusty laugh, the one that sounded like wafers breaking. “I don’t think that’s what he’s after.”

“He can’t have me either,” Pepper pointed out.

“Why not?”

“I happen to have a boyfriend.”

“David.” Gene nodded. “I don’t like David.”

“You never like my boyfriends,” Pepper pointed out.

“I like Anthony.”

“Tony Stark is _not_ my boyfriend.”

“Has he offered you a job?” Gene asked. He was feeding his dog out of his hand; they still took lunch in the garden every week.

“If he did, I wouldn’t take it.”

“You should,” said Gene.

“What?” Pepper felt something sink in her chest.

“Virginia.” Gene finished feeding Becephalus, and at last looked up. “Are you really going to be happy working in my gallery for the rest of your life? Is this really what you’re going to do?”

“So instead I should work for Stark Industries? What would I do working for a weapons manufacturer?”

“Something good,” said Gene. “The way you did with my collection.”

Pepper looked away. “I haven’t,” she began.

“Modesty doesn’t really suit you.” Gene’s hands shook more now than they used too, but his eyes seemed just as sharp to her. “Go be a corporate relations manager,” he said. “Go be the head of human resources. Go teach Anthony fifty new ways not to fuck himself, because heaven knows the boy needs a good role-model.”

“Mister Stane—”

“Obie is a goddamn bastard, and don’t ever let Anthony tell you any different.”

Tony Stark and Obadiah Stane had had dinner with Gene and Pepper just the other night. Pepper was still convinced Stark had finagled it somehow, even though he put on an innocent face and claimed Gene had invited him. Gene had known Stane a lot longer than that, though. Before his sons had taken over The Toward Organization, _Toward Magazine_ , and Toward Chicken, Gene had been one of the business leaders of the nation; he’d hobnobbed with the likes of Howard Stark and Sam Walton. It surprised Pepper that John didn’t have a higher opinion of Stane; everything she’d read about him said that he was the steady hand Howard Stark’s son would never be. He was supposed to be the “true” father of the industry.

“You think Anthony’s taking advantage of my senility,” Gene said, amused.

“Maybe a little,” said Pepper. “I don’t want to be a role-model.”

“I’m giving him the Matisse,” said Gene. 

Pepper’s eyes went wide. “You can’t.”

“I believe this means you lost a bet. I’m sorry, my dear.”

“But you—”

“Virginia,” Gene said quietly. “My kidneys are failing. I’m not going to last another six months.”

Pepper already knew. She was more than just his curator. She had always been more than just his curator, because his sons didn’t visit him nearly enough, and she liked to make sure he got to his appointments on time. She liked for him to visit his friends, his doctors and his lawyers, so she arranged his schedule and managed his accounts and walked his dog, and was the daughter he had never had, he said.

Pepper had never had a dad.

“I don’t understand why you want me to leave you,” Pepper said, trying not to cry.

Gene smiled wryly. “Telling you to work for Stark isn’t sending you off to your death.”

“I don’t like him,” Pepper said. 

Gene looked out at his roses. “Anthony’s a good kid,” he said at last. “He took the time to befriend a codger like me. No matter what his motives were, he made my life more interesting, toward the end. You have to admit he’s charismatic, if nothing else.”

“Tony Stark is a waste of space,” said Pepper.

“He amuses you.”

“I don’t have to admit that either.”

Gene chuckled again. “My point is, he did it. He knew what he wanted and he just kept going after it. What do you want, Virginia?”

Pepper bowed her head, because she couldn’t tell him what she wanted. She wanted to be his housekeeper. She wanted to read him his paper once he got too blind to see. She wanted him to live forever; she didn’t want to lose her friend.

“Work for Stark,” said Gene. “At least you won’t be bored.”

*

Tony called Pepper at around eight pm the day after the press conference, while he was in DC. She hadn’t heard from him since he’d gotten back from his meeting with Fury.

“Hi,” she told the phone.

“Hey hon,” said Tony.

Pepper blinked several times, even though he couldn’t see her. “Hon?”

“I meant to say sugar-lips,” Tony said. “What are you wearing?”

Pepper allowed herself to smile—precisely _because_ he couldn’t see. Deciding that this was going to be interesting, she went to go find her ear bud. “How was the awards ceremony?” she asked.

“Where are you?” Tony said. “Are you alone?”

“I saw it on TV,” said Pepper, putting the bud in her ear and setting her phone down. “You should be proud. Senator Stern looked put out. Want me to send him a basket?”

“I want you to take off your shirt,” said Tony.

Pepper’s smile widened. She wanted to curl up in bed with her bud in her ear, wrap her arms around her pillow. Instead she went over to the couch, tucking her feet up under her. “How’s Rhodey?” she asked. “He looked well. Does he still think giving the suit technology to the military is a good idea?”

“What color is your bra?”

“Did you get a chance to talk to General Ross? I thought I saw him in the crowd.”

“Maybe you could just unbutton your shirt? Come on. Just one. Just one button.”

Pepper tried to stop smiling, so that he wouldn’t hear it in her voice. It wasn’t as if she’d really believed he had lost interest in her after his meeting with Fury, but she didn’t want him knowing how relieved she was to hear him talk this way. She was upset with herself for having let it unsettle her at all. Once her face was under control, she said very steadily, “Do you want to know if I’m wet right now, Tony?” 

“Um. Yes?”

“I’d have to check and see.”

“You can check. I’ll wait. No problem. Pepper?”

“Hm?” 

“Pepper? Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please check,” Tony said.

“Maybe later,” Pepper said. “Unless I check manually, sometimes I don’t even know whether I am until it starts getting on my underwear.”

“Oh, God.”

“Maybe I’d answer your question if you answered some of mine.”

“Anything. Want to know my favorite color? It’s red. Want to know my favorite book? It’s _The Art of War_. Want to know my sign? It’s—”

“What are you wearing?” said Pepper.

There was a pause. “The usual.”

“So, nothing.”

He laughed—he actually laughed, and that was something Tony rarely did, even though he made jokes all the time. It was a short, dry chuckle, and Pepper was rather proud of it. “He agrees with me,” Tony said. “Rhodey. Well, agree is such a strong word. He doesn’t think the military should have Iron Man technology, but I’m not sure he thinks I should either.”

“I’m wearing a silk blouse,” said Pepper, “and a pencil skirt. It’s wool.”

“On the other hand, Stern remains a sour-faced dipshit who thinks I should ‘share it with the world’ as a cover for each of the ten fingers he has in military contracted pies. He poked me with my medal, you know. I don’t want you to send him a basket.”

“I’m in my apartment,” said Pepper. “All by myself.”

“You can send him an action figure,” said Tony. “I hear they’re making action figures. I’m a brand new superhero.”

“I unbuttoned the top button,” said Pepper.

“Other than Stern being a dick, I think it went off without a hitch. At least there won’t be another hearing for a year or so. That was all your questions; now will you tell me what color your bra is?”

“That wasn’t all my questions,” said Pepper.

“A suit. I don’t know; I can’t be bothered; Caracenti. I took off the coat and tie; no shoes, no socks.”

“Underwear?”

“Jesus. I don’t know. The stretchy kind?”

“Boxer briefs,” said Pepper.

There was a pause. “How do _you_ know what kind of underwear I’m wearing?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “I packed your bags.”

“Then you already knew what I was wearing.”

“Yes.”

Another pause. “Can I pack _your_ bags next time?”

“I’m not letting you anywhere near my underwear drawer.”

“Why not? I let you near mine.”

“You wouldn’t wear underwear if it weren’t for me.”

“Yes, I would,” said Tony. “There’s chafing involved.” Another pause. “Why won’t you let me in your underwear drawer? I’m your boyfriend now.”

Pepper thought of her spreadsheet. “Do you _want_ inside my underwear drawer?”

“Yes, please.” Tony paused again. “I bet you have gorgeous panties. I bet they’re all silk. Are they all silk? They should all be silk. I want to go in your underwear drawer and throw away all the underwear that isn’t silk. Except for the cotton ones. I like those too. Do you have cotton ones?”

“I have cotton ones,” said Pepper.

“But do you have cotton ones right now? On you, I mean.”

Pepper smiled. “No.”

“Silk?”

“No.”

“Pepper.”

“Hm?”

“You’re wearing underwear. Say you’re wearing underwear. Say it right now.”

“I’m wearing underwear.”

“Do you mean it?”

“Yes.”

“What is it made out of?”

“It’s a nylon spandex blend,” said Pepper. “But really if you want to get technical, there’s probably more lace than anything else.”

“Lace?”

“Lace.”

“Lace lace?” Tony said. “Lace is fine. You can keep those. Lace is okay. Pepper?”

“Yes?”

“Will you check to see if you’re wet now?”

“It might be kind of difficult in this skirt,” Pepper said.

“You can take it off,” said Tony. “I wouldn’t mind. I mean, that would be a little risqué of you, and as you know, I’m very conservative, but for you I can make exceptions.”

“I’m not sure I need to take it off,” said Pepper.

“Hike it up?” said Tony. “Or unzip it. You could just unzip it. Put your hand down the front and your finger in your lace panties and then stroke your cunt with it. That sounds perfectly convenient to me. I don’t see a single problem with that.”

“Hm,” said Pepper.

“Hm? Hm what?”

“I’m thinking.”

“I changed my mind,” said Tony.

Pepper shifted on the couch. “What?”

“I don’t like lace at all,” said Tony. “Could you take them off?”

She smiled again. “There’s nothing wrong with lace.”

“Yes, there is. It’s awful. I don’t like the thought of it touching you. You deserve better. Can you take them off? Please. I don’t want them on you; they’re garish; I can’t believe I have a girlfriend wearing lace panties; I’ve never heard of anything so horrid. Take them off. And then maybe you could lick them?” he added, sounding hopeful.

“You have no right to insult my panties.”

“Well, they’re rubbing up against your cunt when I can’t.” Now he sounded disgruntled. “That’s plenty of reason to hate them.”

“Poor baby,” said Pepper. “Do you want me to rub up against my cunt for you?”

“Yes. Jesus.” There was another pause. “Yes, please?”

“But I don’t have to check anymore,” said Pepper. “I can tell I’m wet.”

“Oh, God. Keep going. How much?”

“Are you touching yourself?”

“How can you suggest something so crass?”

“Oh,” said Pepper. “Maybe you should tell me why you aren’t touching yourself.”

“I never said I wasn’t touching myself,” said Tony.

“Are you?”

There was another long pause, and Pepper couldn’t decipher it. “No,” Tony said finally.

“Why not?”

She could almost see him shrugging during the pause. “Is your bra lace too?” he asked, finally. 

“Are you telling me—are you seriously telling me—you don’t like to masturbate?” Pepper asked.

“Don’t be ridiculous.”

Pepper raised her brows. 

“I can hear you raising your brows at me,” said Tony.

“Then out with it.”

“Of course I masturbate. I jack off. I beat the bishop. I hand-jive; I spank the monkey; I milk the lizard, pound the meat, whack the pud, flog the—” 

“I think I get it,” said Pepper.

“I have plenty more.”

“No, that’s good.” Pepper waited, but no further explanation seemed forthcoming. “You mean you don’t want me to listen?”

“Listen all you want. Watch me. I’ll put on a show, if you want; I just don’t do it mutually. At the same time. Especially not over the phone.”

 _I don’t like reciprocation_ , he had told her that first night. She’d tried to go down on him and he hadn’t let her, but a blow-job had been perfectly acceptable the morning after. It seemed so strangely _specific_ , liking blow-jobs but not liking them after performing cunilingus, liking masturbation but not liking mutual masturbation.

Pepper hadn’t included either on the spreadsheet; they seemed like such mundane kinks to her they hardly bore recording, yet obviously he had very specific desires concerning them.

“Pepper,” Tony said.

“I’m unbuttoning my shirt,” she told him, so he wouldn’t think she had a problem with anything he had said. Unbuttoning her shirt, she used the time to think about it.

They didn’t have to do it his way. She could tell him to undress and take his cock out and listen to him as he came. If she wanted, she could even bring herself off while he did it, just to see what he would do. 

It wasn’t that simultaneous orgasms were important to her; it was trying to figure out the dynamic. She had to do this right, because she didn’t want to be another checkmark on his list. She had to do everything right, even though she knew that thinking that way could so very easily make her the footnote to his story.

“Are you finally going to tell me what color your bra is?” Tony asked. 

“White,” Pepper said. “You have to wear a white bra with a white shirt, Tony.”

“You don’t _have_ to. You don’t have to wear a bra at all. God, I love your tits. Send me a picture?”

“Right now?”

“Yes,” said Tony. “Right now. Send me a picture of you with your silk shirt open in your pencil skirt with your white bra.” He paused. “You don’t have to include your face.”

“You’re a dick,” Pepper said.

“Yeah. Come on and do it.”

“No,” said Pepper. “Maybe some other time.”

“Pepper.”

“Some other time,” Pepper said, “I’ll send you a video.”

“Christ.” There was a little silence. “Do you have a vibrator?”

“What kind of question is that?”

“I’m sorry, is that too personal? Do you have a vibrator, Pepper, and do you put it in your pussy and hold it there and what color is it and have you ever done it in public and did you ever let your boyfriend fuck you with it and what was his name and did you like it and can you repeat exactly what was said and how he touched you?”

“No, yes, yes, two white and one silver, no, yes, David, Todd, and Syed, yes, and _that_ is too personal.”

“David, Todd, and Syed?”

“Yes.”

“At the same time?”

“No.”

“Just three?” said Tony.

“Three.”

“Is that all?”

“Oh,” said Pepper. “Did you want me to go and get more men to fuck me with vibrators? I can go get more.”

“I still love the way you say fuck.” 

“Carlos preferred to fuck me with dildos.”

“I like Carlos,” said Tony. “Sounds like a great guy.”

“You’re not jealous?”

“No.” There was another little pause. “Am I supposed to be?”

“No.” Pepper tucked her hair behind her ear. “It’s nice.”

“I can be jealous if you want me to be.”

“No,” said Pepper.

“You don’t sound certain.”

“I just never had a boyfriend react that way before.”

There was another pause. “Say that again.”

“Boyfriend.” Pepper smiled a little. “You’re my boyfriend.”

This pause was longer. “I’m rethinking my position on mutual masturbation.”

Pepper’s smile went wider. “You make me feel like I’m in high school.”

“You had phone sex in high school?”

“We’re not having phone sex,” Pepper pointed out.

“Not yet,” said Tony. “We’re gearing up to it. I like a slow burn. Did you have phone sex in high school, Pepper?”

“You don’t like a slow burn.”

“On the phone I do. Answer the question.”

“Yes.”

“With whom?”

Pepper pressed her lips together. “Do you really need to know all their names?”

“Yes,” said Tony. “I want to picture you with them.”

 _That’s not normal_ , she wanted to say, and wondered if he knew that. Instead she said, “Hank.”

“That’s an awful name.”

“No, it’s not.”

“Tell me how he fucked you,” Tony said.

“Not right now.”

“Tell me what he looked like,” said Tony. “What did you look like? God, I bet you were hot.”

“ _Were_ hot?”

“You know, in that teenage way.”

“Did I mention you’re a cad?”

“Is that better or worse than a dick? I haven’t gotten a picture yet.”

“I told you. I’m not sending you a picture.”

“Why not?”

“I want you to listen. For once.”

Another silence. “Were you serious? About the video.”

“Yes.” 

“And about Hank? And Todd and David and Syed? I want you to tell me everything. Every dirty, sordid detail, all the ways they fucked you, everything they did to you, everything you did to them, everything.”

“Okay.”

“Okay?” Tony sounded surprised.

“Maybe not everything,” said Pepper, “but I’ll tell you. Does it get you off?”

“Yes.”

Pepper tried to process that. Obviously, her spreadsheet needed additional rows. “Okay,” she said again.

There was another long pause. “You don’t have to, Pepper,” Tony said, and that was how she knew how hard he was trying, because of course she didn’t have to. She knew she didn’t have to; he knew she didn’t have to, and Tony didn’t like to reassure people. 

Sometimes he backed off when they couldn’t take it—he was kind enough for that; he wasn’t a complete asshole, or else she wouldn’t feel the way she did about him. But he liked to throw things at people and see what they did with them, and the fact that he was reassuring her now meant that he was just as uncertain as she.

“You’re going to like David,” Pepper said. “He fucked me in the ass.”

“I love David,” Tony said, immediately and fervently. “Where did he go?”

“He dumped me.”

“David is obviously an idiot. Except for the ass-fucking. I still think that was clever of him.”

“Wouldn’t you like to know,” said Pepper.

“I would. I really would. You really took it up the ass?”

“Yes.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Did you like it?”

“I give it a three out of ten.”

“Why a three?”

“It hurts.”

“He didn’t do it right.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “You’re not going to convince me it doesn’t hurt.”

“It does hurt. Just, if you do it right, hurt doesn’t matter.”

“If you do it right,” Pepper repeated.

“Yeah. It’s so good. So good. If you get it wet. Grease it up. Stretch it out. Stretch it out and out and out until all you want is . . .”

Pepper guessed that answered the questions about catching in the annotations of the spreadsheet. From the way he trailed off, though, she wasn’t certain he wanted to talk about it. She could never tell whether he was ashamed of being bisexual, or whether it was simply the social stigma against male homosexuality that made him reluctant to talk about it. He’d never hidden it from her, though he was circumspect with the press. He wasn’t circumspect about most things, but he was about that.

“Maybe we can try it sometime,” Pepper said, very carefully avoiding the suggestion of who could try it on whom.

There was another long pause. “Okay.”

Pepper wanted to question him more, but she already knew that with Tony, it was best to move on when he started giving one-word answers. “I’m taking off my skirt,” she told him. When he didn’t answer, she added, “Did you want me to go get my vibrator?”

“No,” Tony said. “Yes. Do you make more sounds when you use one?”

“Than I do when I use my fingers? Probably.”

“Fingers.” Tony sucked in a breath. “Do you get off faster with your fingers?”

“No. I’ll use my fingers first, then finish off with the vibrator. How’s that?”

“That’s good. Pepper?”

“What?”

“Did you really rate the anal sex you had on a scale of one to ten?”

“Yes.” 

There was a long silence. Pepper went and got her vibrator from her bedroom. She was debating whether to stay in there when Tony said, “I miss you.”

Pepper’s heart filled up, She was standing in the middle of the floor in her bra and slip, holding a vibrator so that her _boyfriend_ could listen to her come, and she could fill out another row on her spreadsheet. For some reason, she wanted to cry—but she was happy. She didn’t know why something so stupid and simple—something that should have been a given, _I miss you_ —made her so happy, but it still did.

“I’m taking off my bra,” Pepper said, and put the vibrator down on her bed.

“Good. What are your nipples like? Soft or hard?”

“Sort of in between. I’ll touch them when I get it off.”

“Is it off?”

“Yes.”

“Are you touching them?”

“Yes.”

“Tell me how.”

“Are you going to let me get any words in edge-wise?”

Tony didn’t say anything. It made her wish she hadn’t sniped, because now the silence felt loud. She was lifting her breasts—gently, like she liked, thumbs rubbing around the areole because the thought of touching the tips of her nipples usually made her wince.

“Pepper,” Tony said, sounding strained.

“Hm?”

“Tell me what you’re doing.”

“Fondling my breasts.”

Tony made a little sound, high and tight, while Pepper cupped her breasts with her hands. She covered the points of her nipples with the palms of her hands, because they were hard now and hurt, standing against the air. The warm softness of her palms felt good, pressing in.

“ _Pepper_ ,” Tony said.

“What?”

“Please.”

“Please what?”

“You’re squeaking,” Tony said. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“I’m not squeaking.”

“Yes, you are; you’re feeling up your own tits and you’re squeaking and I wanna suck them. I really like sucking tits, Pepper. I love breasts.”

“Somehow that doesn’t surprise me.”

“I love your breasts. You’re really sensitive, aren’t you.”

It wasn’t a question, so she didn’t really answer. “Aren’t all women sensitive?”

There was a pause. “Do you want me to tell you about other women, Pepper? Because I can, and I will, but somehow I don’t think you want that.”

“Not really. No.”

“I thought not.” Tony paused. “There have been a lot of other women.”

“I don’t care.”

“And men. There’ve been men. Not as many, but—”

“I told you. I don’t care.”

Another silence. “I want you very badly. I want to see your shoulders and hold your breasts and suck your nipples; I want to swirl the tips with my tongue.”

“My underwear is probably soaked through.”

“Probably?” said Tony. “Can you check? I thought you were going to check.”

“I thought you were going to listen to me.”

“I am listening.” Another pause. “Can you at least take off your slip? You’re wearing a slip, aren’t you? You always wear slips. You’re the type.”

Pepper brushed her thumbs over the tips of her too-sensitive nipples.

“What was that?” Tony demanded. “Did you just touch your pussy? What was that sound you just made? _Pepper_. Was that you touching your pussy?”

“No, still just—” she drew in a quick breath—“my breasts.”

“Pepper, please. Pretty please? Touch your cunt. Just once. For me. Come on and do it.”

Pepper stood up. “I think I’ll take off my slip now.”

“Where are you?” Tony asked. “Are you in your bedroom?”

“Hm,” Pepper said, sliding off her slip and underwear.

“You’re killing me, here.”

“I’m taking off my underwear.”

“The lacey ones? Are they white too?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Can you—just—”

“What?”

“Taste them? Your panties. Maybe just a little. I just want you to lick them. Just a little, and tell me how it tastes. That’s all.”

“That sounds unsanitary.”

“I know, but just the part that was against your crotch. I just—I just—your cunt. Wow. It tasted really good.”

“No, it didn’t.”

“Yes, it did. Like pie.” Tony made a sound, the same sound he made when he was _eating_ pie, one of his little sounds of ecstasy, which she could never determine was genuine or not. “You should taste it, Pepper. I just want you to taste.”

“Hm,” said Pepper. “I’m getting back on the bed. I think I’ll put my hand between my legs now.”

“Good, but just a little taste? Maybe just a whiff. Can you at least tell me how they smell?”

“You’re obsessed with this.”

“No. Yes. Maybe? I promise, I’m not a pervert.”

“You’re not?”

“You got me. I’m a pervert. I might have a slight oral fixation. Your mouth or my mouth, I really don’t care. Is your hand really between your legs?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Are you really touching yourself?”

“Mm-hm.”

“Where?”

“Two fingers are stroking the outside right now,” said Pepper. “My other hand is still on my breast.”

“And you’re all spread out on your bed? Are your fingers wet?”

“A little. It’s getting wet everywhere. Soon I’m going to be leaking down my thighs.”

“Why? I mean, what is it? Is it because you’re touching yourself, because of your tits—because of what you’re saying? Is it—”

“I think it was what you were saying about my panties.”

“What?” 

Pepper slipped one of her fingers inside herself. She must have made a sound, because Tony immediately said, “What?” again. “What was that? What are you doing?”

“I slid a finger inside me—”

“Oh, God.”

“And I’m curling my other finger—”

“God—”

“Pressing it against my cunt—”

“Jesus—”

“Rubbing, and it’s so good. It’s really, really good.”

“Fuck,” Tony said.

“Nice,” Pepper said, moving her finger inside her, her other finger against her sex. “It’s really wet.”

“Fantastic.”

“I think I’ll suck my fingers now.”

Tony made another sound—a needy, high animal sound.

Pepper pulled her fingers out and sucked them noisily, so he could hear, and then she licked them. She didn’t know if he could hear that, but she wanted to—not because she liked the taste. Her vagina definitely didn’t taste like pie. But the fact that she knew it turned him on, the fact that it was dirty—the feeling of naughtiness she got when she did it—all of it made it palatable, and he must have heard _something_ because he whined, inarticulately, like a dog.

“Salty,” Pepper said.

Tony whined again.

“My fingers are all wet,” Pepper said. “Any suggestions for what to do with them?”

“Please,” Tony said.

“Please what?” Pepper said again.

“Please fuck yourself,” Tony said. “Fuck yourself so I can hear; I want to put my tongue in your cunt; I want to fuck you with it; I want my nose between your thighs. Please.”

Pepper put her hand back between her thighs. “Do you want me to pretend it’s you touching me?”

“No.”

Slipping her wet fingers inside herself, she gasped. “Are you sure?”

“Yes.”

Then she started moving them. “Because if you were here, your fingers would be in my cunt.”

“Pepper.”

“They’d be moving inside of me. The heel of your hand would be against my clit, and you’d be pushing your fingers in deeper—deeper inside of my body; you’d be inside of me, Tony; do you—”

“Vibrator now?”

“I think I’ll put another finger in,” Pepper said, and added another finger.

“How many is that?”

“I—” Pepper had to pause, hips arching off the bed—“three.”

“Keep going.”

“You want me to keep fucking myself with my fingers?”

“Yes, please.”

“You said please.”

“I can say please,” Tony said. 

Pepper’s breath caught as she twisted her fingers inside her, brushing her thumb over her clit. “Maybe I can make you say please.”

“Pepper. Please.”

“Please what?”

“Please tell me what you’re doing with your cunt right now; it’s driving me crazy.”

“Cunt is such a dirty word,” Pepper said, twisting her fingers inside of her again.

“Jesus, Pepper.”

“I’m still fucking myself with my fingers. They’re inside me—” she had to pause again—“thrusting, because—I guess—what I really want is—” she didn’t know why it still made her blush—“your cock.”

“What are you doing with your other hand? Is it still touching your breast?”

“No. Both my hands are between my legs.”

“Pepper.”

“It’s—more pressure. I usually do this on my stomach.”

“You’re on your back.”

Pepper’s hips arched again.

She must have made a sound, because he said, “Pepper, please.”

“Beg me.”

“What?”

“What do you want, Tony?” 

She could hear him swallow. “I want you to fuck yourself with your vibrator, Pepper.”

“Beg me.”

There was a long pause. Pepper could feel and hear, now that she thought about it, that she was making sounds—tight, little breathless sounds she couldn’t control. Her fingers inside of her felt good. She wanted more, but she realized now why it bothered her that he wasn’t touching himself. She wasn’t going to get to tell him what to do. 

“Please,” Tony said finally. 

She couldn’t read his voice. “Please what?”

There was another pause, and he didn’t speak until she brushed her thumb over her clit. She heard herself make a high little cry, and he said, “Please. Take your vibrator and push—” his voice lingered on the _shhh_ , like a purr—“it into yourself and turn it on. Fill—” he lingered on the _l_ ’s as well—“yourself up with it and let me hear it Pepper.” His voice was low. “Please.”

“Since you—” pulling her fingers out, Pepper had to stop for a little groan—“ask nicely.” She picked up her vibrator. It was relatively plain, but it did the job—white silicone with a switch, and a place for the batteries. She knew she wasn’t going to be able to stand it on very long, even just on low—not with Tony in her ear.

She eased it in for his sake—sometimes she just thrust with it, got it over with so she could turn it on inside her. On the whole, she didn’t even use it all that much. In the days before his abduction she’d often had a boyfriend or at least someone she was dating, and as she’d told him only a few of them had wanted to use them. 

“Pepper,” Tony said, as she inched it in. 

In between partners she often buried herself in work so deeply that she was too busy for sex, and too tired. Then Afghanistan and Tony had happened. Then he’d asked her to dance, and things had begun to change.

“Pepper, please,” Tony said.

She hadn’t been using it more, because of him. She’d told herself the truth before—she’d never pined. Still, there hadn’t really been boyfriends after that, and sometimes she just—

“Pepper, please, tell me what you’re doing to yourself,” Tony said. “Tell me; I’m asking; I’m begging; I’m _begging_ Pepper.”

“I’m doing—” Pressing her lips together, Pepper closed her eyes, lifted her hips, got the vibrator all the way in—“what you told me to,” she said.

Tony made another sound. “Did you turn it on?”

“Not yet.”

“Turn it on. Please turn it on, Pepper.”

Pepper twisted it, just a little. 

“Is that—is it on? Please, is it—”

Pepper flipped the switch. “Now it’s on.”

“Jesus fucking Christ. Pepper. Pepper—tell me—”

“What do you—” arching, she whispered—“want to hear?”

“Everything; are you thrusting it inside yourself; is it thick, is your cunt tight around it, is it stretching you; how hard is it going, are you going to turn it up—Pepper—Jesus, Pepper—are you going to turn it up—”

Pepper was holding her hand low over her pubic bone; forcing the vibrator inside her to a new angle; her other hand was slowly pulling out, then back in. She knew that she was making sounds, louder and louder sounds—

“Please, Pepper, please,” Tony said, “turn it up; are you going to come, are you close; please tell me; just tell me; are you getting your bed wet, are your hands messy, are you playing with your breasts—are you soiling your sheets—”

Hearing herself moan loudly, Pepper turned it up. Tony’s voice went hard and frustrated: “Are you going to come; tell me _please—_ ”

“Yes,” Pepper finally managed to say, and she found it sort of hard to believe he wasn’t actually touching himself. He really sounded strangely desperate.

“Are you fucking yourself with it? Please just say yes. Just tell me you’re fucking yourself with your vibrator; please just tell me it’s in your cunt where it belongs; _please—_ ”

“It’s—” Pepper arched. She arched and arched and arched—“It’s in my cunt.”

“Say my name.”

Pepper made an incoherent sound.

“Please, just say it when you come,” said Tony. “It’s all I ask; I can’t see you and you won’t tell me what you’re doing; please just say it when you do it. Please say it. Just my name.”

It was going sort of hard to listen, actually, and she hadn’t come this hard even with him inside her.

“I’m begging you,” Tony said. “I’m really begging you now. Come. Just come, Pepper, and say my name. Come all over yourself and your vibrator, come on and do it—”

Pepper angled the vibrator and oh God. Oh _God_. “Oh God,” she said aloud.

“My name, Pepper. Please.”

“ _Tony_ ,” she said, and came. 

When she could hear herself think again, he was talking. She was pretty sure he’d talked all the way through her orgasm, but it had been sort of hard to think. She sort of didn’t want to think now, either, but he was insistent in her ear. 

“Thank you,” he was saying. “That was perfect; you did beautifully; you sounded good, spectacular; is it still in your cunt; when do you like to take it out; are you going to wash it; are you going to wash your sheets; can I have them—”

“Of course I’m going to wash it,” Pepper said.

“There you are,” Tony said. “I thought I’d lost you.”

“Why on earth would you want my sheets?”

“No reason. You come like a pro; did you know that?”

She wanted to tell him that he shouldn’t say things like that to her, but she was too tried and felt too loose. Besides, after what she’d just done, she sort of felt like maybe she _should_ be a pro; it had been that good. Pepper thought of her spreadsheet, and said, “Why did you call?”

“So I could listen to you come.”

“How did you know I’d do it?”

There was a pause. “I didn’t.”

Pepper sighed. “Where are you?”

“At the hotel.”

“And where were you before that?”

Another pause, this one longer. “Is the vibrator still inside you?”

“Tell me where you were before this, Tony, and I’ll tell you what I’m doing with my vibrator.”

“The Gibson,” Tony said.

The Gibson was a bar. “I’m taking it out,” Pepper said, and pulled the vibrator out. It always ached a little; she never liked it. “Now I’m putting it on the bed.”

“You’ll get your sheets dirty.”

“I like to lie here a little while,” Pepper said. “Then I’ll wash it, and change the sheets.”

“Sex sheets, Pepper. I bet it smells like your pussy alllll over them.”

“It does.” Pepper let her voice go low. “My whole room smells like pussy.”

“My, that’s filthy.” Tony was feigning shock. “Light a candle.”

Pepper made a decision right then and there. “I want you to do something for me.”

There was a pause. “Pepper—”

“I want you to call me whenever you need it. Whenever you need it. I’ll take care of you. Unless I’m in a very important meeting, I’ll take care of it right then and there.”

She could hear him swallow. “Take care of it?”

“Yes,” said Pepper. “Even if you think I can’t, call me first. If I can’t take care of it—we’ll go from there, but you call me. You call me, and I’ll give you what you need.”

There was a silence. It went on so long that Pepper at last sat up, realizing how sticky she felt. She was going to need to take a shower, or at least wash her thighs. Instead she picked up the vibrator and went to the bathroom.

“Hold on a sec,” said Tony. “I’m just trying to wrap my brain around this. You—Pepper Potts—this is still Pepper, isn’t it?”

“If it was someone else, around twenty minutes ago should have been the time you hung up and called me instead.”

“You, Pepper Potts, are going to drop everything and stick a vibrator in your pussy every time I . . . I what, exactly?”

“I didn’t say I’d stick a vibrator in my pussy every time; I said I’d take care of it.”

“Yes. And take care of what, exactly?”

“You know what.”

There was another long pause, and Pepper washed her vibrator in the sink, with soap. 

Finally, Tony said, “You think I called you tonight because I couldn’t keep it in my pants?”

Pepper shook the vibrator, then dried it off. “You called me because you miss me, Tony.”

“I do,” said Tony. “I did. I did miss you.”

“Call me any time you miss me,” Pepper said more gently. “Just promise me you’ll call.”

“What if I call you every day?”

Pepper smiled. “Will that mean I get to listen to you jerk off?”

“What if I call you every hour?”

Pepper didn’t answer, because they both knew he wouldn’t call her every hour—or if he did, he’d get bored of it fast.

Then he asked, “What if I never call you?”

“Then I’ll get more work done.”

Another pause. Pepper put her vibrator away, then went to the bedroom to strip her sheets. 

“I didn’t do anything at The Gibson,” Tony said.

“I know you didn’t.”

“I didn’t even think about doing anything at The Gibson.”

“I never said you did.”

Another pause. Gathering the sheets, Pepper put them in the hamper.

“It wasn’t just because I was with Rhodey,” Tony said.

“Do you want to hear about my pussy, Tony?”

“Yes, please.”

“It’s still messy. And extremely wet.”

“Is it all puffy?”

“Do you like that?”

“Yes,” Tony said. “I like it a lot. Is it?”

“Yes.”

“Take a picture of it.”

Pepper got new sheets out of the linen closet.

“Pepper, please,” Tony said. “Take a picture of it.”

“You want a picture of my vagina.”

Tony sucked in a sharp breath. “Your entire vulva, really.”

“You really want it.”

“I have to have something to do tonight.”

Pepper raised her brows. “Just what exactly are you going to do with it?”

“There are all kinds of sites on the internet that want it.”

“That want pictures of my vulva.”

“Sure. I mean, why wouldn’t they? And thousands upon thousands of adolescent teens can whack off with your names on their lips.”

“I’m going to forget you just said that.”

“Said what?”

Pepper started putting the fitted sheet over her mattress.

“Please?” said Tony. “Just a quick little shot. It doesn’t have to be anything artistic. I just want to see it looking all drenched and used—”

“If I do,” Pepper said. “Will I get to hear you come?”

Pepper finished putting on the fitted sheet, which took some doing. It was a queen size and the fit was tight. Then she put on the top sheet. She was shaking out her comforter when he finally just said, “Pepper.

Pepper went to get her phone.

“Did you change your sheets?” Tony asked.

“Yes.”

She got her phone from the living-room, then went back to the bedroom. She put on the new pillowcases so everything would match, then got on the bed. 

“Maybe you should go to bed,” Tony said.

“I will, soon.”

Arranging herself on the bed, Pepper turned her phone on. She couldn’t believe that she was doing this, but when he’d said that she couldn’t possibly understand his kinks, she’d pictured things far worse. This was weird, but not . . . horrible, when she thought about it. She put her phone between her legs, snapped the picture, and looked to make sure it was blurry. 

It just looked like someone’s snatch.

“Are you still there?” Tony asked.

“I’m still here,” Pepper said.

Pepper touched the button to send the photo, then selected Tony’s number, and pressed send.

“Pepper.” He made a sort of groaning sound, exaggerated and somewhat comical. “ _Pepper_.”

“Yes?”

“Someone just sent me a dirty picture.”

“Hm,” said Pepper. “Who was it?”

“A dirty, dirty picture,” Tony clarified.

“You didn’t say you wanted me to clean it first.”

Tony was quiet, so Pepper put her phone on her nightstand and went back to the bathroom. Turning the water on, she waited for it to get warm while she got out a washcloth.

“Pepper?” Tony said eventually, his voice in her ear.

“Still here.”

“That’s nice,” said Tony. “I think it’s time to say goodnight.”

Pepper was just about to get the washcloth wet, but she stopped. “What are you going to do?”

“Hang up,” Tony said. “It’s obviously my bed time.”

“What are you going to do with my picture?”

“Sleep with it on my pillow.”

“Tony.”

“Gaze at it lovingly?”

“Tony.”

“Have it blown into an image a thousand times this size and have it printed on my wall.”

“You mentioned going to sleep.”

“I’m not going to sleep,” said Tony. “I think I’ll stay up alllllllllllllll night.”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “Are you going to stay up alllllllllll night with my picture?”

“Maybe. Nighty-night.”

“I’m washing my cunt with a washcloth,” Pepper said, because she was.

“I suppose I can stay up a little longer.”

“No,” said Pepper. “Go to bed.”

“Pepper,” Tony said.

“Good night, Mister Stark.”

“Um. Do you clean it inside, because maybe I can—”

“I said good night, Mister Stark.”

“Request permission for verbal supervision of the cleaning of your cunt, Miss Potts.”

“Permission denied.”

“You’re no fun.”

“Good night.” 

“I guess it’s just me and my picture.”

Pepper hung up. If she waited for him to say good night back, she’d be up allllllllll night as well, and she had work tomorrow.

A minute and a half later, she got a text:

> This pic is my new gf
> 
> Too bad p. Was fun while it lasted

Pepper texted back:

> Ironically, there was more where that came from. If you had stayed with me

Tony:

> jfc
> 
> you have more than 1 cunt
> 
> I knew you were the perfect gf

Pepper:

> goodnight

Tony:

> can I get a pic of the vibe too? Just to get the full scenario here

Finally, Pepper just turned off her phone.

*

When Pepper first started working in the corporate relations department of Stark Industries, her role was very defined. Stark had offered her a job handling contracts and clients that paid twice as much as Gene had paid her—and Gene had given her quite a generous salary. Besides the fact that Pepper hadn’t wanted to work for Stark Industries in the first place, she also hadn’t wanted to take the job because she was pretty sure Stark had just offered her a job to get her in bed. She felt fairly certain he understood none of her professional skills.

After Gene had told her to work for Stark, though, Pepper had called Stark Industries’ human resources department, told them her name, and asked about openings. Apparently Stark had already given them instructions about what to do if she called, and they’d pitched the job as though they were hard selling a product on commission. Stark really did want her, it seemed, and from the job description—he knew exactly of what she was capable. 

After working at Stark Industries a month, however, she’d taken on a few more responsibilities. By the time Gene died, six months after Pepper took the job and Stark got the Matisse, Pepper was head of her department.

Gene Toward died on a Saturday. The funeral was an enormous affair. All his sons were there and about five hundred other people that Pepper didn’t know. She knew around a hundred, maybe, because for the past nine years, he had been her best friend. He’d been her only friend, really. She’d broken up with David when she started working for Stark Industries.

She wasn’t really close to anyone at the funeral; her mother didn’t come. Her mother didn’t even know who Gene Toward was. It was Stark who sat by her in the church. He was already there when she arrived, and when they had to go to the grave, it was Stark who took her hand and said quietly, “Come with me.”

She got into a black sedan and she couldn’t really see straight, and Stark just kept holding her hand. The only thing he said for the rest of the whole trip was, “Miss Potts, this is Happy. Happy, Miss Potts.”

After the funeral, Happy drove her home. Stark sat next to her in the car and didn’t say anything. He didn’t try to touch her when she started crying. He looked out of the window and put his hand between them on the car seat—as though if she wanted to hold it again, it was on offer. She didn’t want to hold it again.

Two weeks after Gene died, a note arrived in Pepper’s post box. She went to pick up the package, picked it up and opened it. It was the Matisse.

> I thought that you might want something that was his.
> 
> -T

Two weeks after that, Stark collected his dues—the drinks at the Ritz she had promised him all those years ago. Pepper wasn’t sure why she even went. Maybe it was because of the way he had acted at the funeral. Maybe it was because he had given her the Matisse. Maybe it was just the way he came to her desk in the Stark Industry office building and said something to her, straight-forwardly and without flirting, for the first time in the entire time she had known him.

“Surely not the first time,” Stark said, when they were firmly ensconced in a booth at the Ritz.

“Yes, the first time.” Pepper was on her third martini. “The very first time.”

“But I’ve known you nine months,” Stark pointed out. “That’s a really long time to flirt.”

“Two years.”

“At least, a long time to flirt without anything to show for it.”

“You’ve known me two years.” Pepper pointed her straw at him. “And you never once treated me as anything more than an object.”

“What about when we took Gene to the beach?”

“That was different.” Pepper waved her straw. “That was an exception because you were—you’re a manipulative bastard and you . . . you just . . .”

“He was my friend too,” Tony said quietly.

“You didn’t know him like I did.” Pepper shoved her straw into her glass. “No one knew him like I did.”

“Virginia.” Tony’s voice was still quiet.

“Pepper.”

“What?”

“It’s Pepper.” Pepper swirled her straw. “No one ever calls me Virginia. Except him.”

“Tony.” Stark smiled. “Pleased to meet you.”

“No. You’re Stark. You’ll always be Stark. I can’t believe you got me drunk.”

“I didn’t get you drunk.” Stark made an innocent face. “You did that on your own.”

“I miss him.” Pepper slumped until she was eye-level with her straw, then poked it some more. “I just miss him so much. My dad skipped out on my mom before I was born and I just—I just—he loved me.” Oh God, she was crying. “He looked out for me and he was supposed to live to be a hundred. I miss sorting his mail. Why is it nothing good ever—ever . . .”

She trailed off and Stark just looked at her. She was making such an utter fool of herself, and she hated crying. Her face got all red and she could be very very blubbery, so she forced herself to stop even in spite of the alcohol.

“I’m sorry I treated you like an object,” Stark said.

“Pfft,” Pepper said.

“I won’t do it again,” Stark said.

Pepper was pretty sure she came onto him that evening. She was also pretty sure that he helped her into his car and had Happy drive her home, and that she threw up all over the floor of it while Stark held her hair. She woke up with vague memories of him having been in her apartment, and when she woke up the next morning, by her bed there was a glass of water, two Advil, and her second note from Tony Stark.

> I promise.
> 
> -T

—was all the note said, but for the life of her, she couldn’t remember what he might be promising.

*

Tony got back from DC on Monday evening. He didn’t call when he returned, and he didn’t come to work the next day. Pepper had never been a clingy girlfriend; if anything, the guys she had dated had demanded too much of her time. Josh had broken up with her because when he hadn’t talk to her for three weeks, and she hadn’t even noticed. Tony had better be at work on Wednesday, though. He had interviews.

“Interviews shminterviews,” Tony said, when he appeared in her office mid-Wednesday morning. It was the first time she had seen him since his return from DC.

“I notice you went to your first one,” Pepper pointed out.

“Not on purpose.”

Pepper moved a paper file from the stack on her desk to its proper place in her drawer. They were trying to go paperless. People kept giving her files. “Did you need something, Mister Stark? As you can see, I’m quite busy.”

Tony put his feet up on her desk. “I have an idea.”

“Feet off,” Pepper said, putting a pen in her bun and turning to her screen.  
“I have an idea, Pep.”

Still typing, she didn’t look over. “You don’t have anything if you don’t get your feet off.”

Tony took his feet off, stood up. He started messing with her perpetual motion desk toy. “Clean energy.”

“That’s your idea?” She kept typing.

“Don’t fall all over yourself.”

“I’ll bite. How?”

“It’s this thing I found in my chest.”

Pepper spared him a glance. “And how are you going to make that cost effective?” she asked, turning back to the computer.

“I’ll save my pennies and dimes.”

“It’s a nice thought,” she said, switching over to her calendar. “I don’t see the selling point.”

“How about, um, I don’t know, saving the environment?”

“That’s very nineties of you,” Pepper said.

“At least early 2000s. Not to mention it would help the economy.”

Pepper paused. “It would?”

“Sure. Make fuel more affordable. Take both the burden and the power off the oil-rich. Shake up our capitalist empire; see what falls out. Do you know how many city blocks just one arc reactor could power?”

Going back to typing, she said, “That’s definitely not cost effective.”

“I don’t actually care,” Tony said.

“Probably why you’re not running the company.”

“I’m not running the company because I gave it to you.”

Pepper’s hands hovered over the keyboard. “Excuse me?”

“Pepper.”  
Pepper started typing again. “You have another interview.”

“In fifteen minutes.”

“Then start getting ready.”

“Is that Pepper Potts for ‘I’ll take it under advisement’?”

Pepper stopped typing, and turned to him. “I appreciate your good intentions. I even laud them. I respect the fact that you want to take the company in a humanitarian and eco-friendly direction. I really do. But when I say it needs to be cost effective—it needs to be cost effective. We’re still losing money because we’re not taking on military contracts. If you want innovation, you have to make it sell.”

Tony was just staring at her, that solemn, blank stare he gave to people when they said he couldn’t do something, that horribly casual eye-contact that meant he was going to say something truly ugly. “You’re turning me on so much right now,” he said instead.

Pepper’s eyes dropped. “Not here.”

“Yes, here. Here more than anywhere else. Did you know that?”

Pepper moved another file. “If you can’t be professional, I won’t allow you in my office.”

“I can be professional,” said Tony. “Maybe I just don’t want to be.”

She picked up another file so that she could put it where it belonged, in the cabinet on the other side of the room. Standing up and turning away, she said, “If you want me to suck your cock again, you’ll want to.”

She could feel him looking at her as she crossed the room, as she opened the file cabinet, as she dropped the papers inside. She could feel his head turn to follow her as she crossed back, as she sat down, crossed her ankles. She could feel his eyes as she opened her drawer, realized she didn’t know what she was looking for, and closed it again. At last she turned back to her computer and began typing on the keyboard. “If you’re through,” she said, “I have plenty of phone calls to make that don’t require your presence.”

“I’m not through,” Tony said quietly.

She waited, typing.

He waited, doing nothing.

She waited.

He waited.

She waited, and he won. Turning to him sharply, she said, “Do you require assistance, Mister Stark?”

“I—”

“Because if you do,” she said smoothly, “I have three more interviews lined up for you today which should help you to find a new personal assistant. If none of the choices Laura and I have selected are palatable to you, please talk to Laura or Alexis. I’m too busy to make your calls.”

“You’re right,” Tony said. “I’ll find a way to make it cost effective.”

Pepper dropped his gaze again. “I know.”

“I didn’t give you the company. I shouldn’t have said that.”

“I know.”

“I want to do this. I want to do something right. I want to do something that’s good for the world, that benefits people.”

“I know.”

“Stop saying ‘I know’. I get it. I know the military contracts cost us a lot. Just—when I find a way to make a clean energy initiative turn a profit, I—want your support.” He started playing with the desk toy again. “I don’t mean Stark Industries’ support. I mean . . . you and me. Us.”

Pepper turned on the tablet on her desk. “You don’t need to turn a profit.”

“What?”

Unlocking the tablet, Pepper still didn’t look at him. “Prove to me we can make it break even, and I can sell it to the board.”

“How—”

Pepper started touching things on the screen. “Starbucks is working to become one hundred percent fair trade. Microsoft has the Bill and Melinda Gates Foundation. Priuses are still trendy. Here’s what Yoyodyne is doing with community outreach.” Turning the tablet, she pushed it toward Tony.

“Yoyodyne.” Tony picked it up and looked at it. “They don’t really seem the community outreach type.”

“If it doesn’t cost you anything to put a little green leaf on something—guarantee you it can sell better than something without a little green leaf. It sells—caring about the world we live in, the society for which we’re responsible. It’s sexy.”

“And here I thought it was just.”

Pepper reached up to get her tablet back. “Justice doesn’t have dollar signs.”

“That’s why it’s just.” Tony held onto it. “I don’t want to do this because it’ll make money. I want to do it because it’s right.”

“Don’t tell our shareholders that,” Pepper said, putting down her hand and turning back to her screen, “and we’ll be in excellent shape.”

“Pepper.” Tony put the tablet back on the desk. “Did you really put a vibrator inside of you when you were talking to me on the phone?”

Pepper felt heat flare all over her face. “That was you? I must have dialed a wrong number.”

“I mean, you did. You must have,” Tony went on. “I don’t think you’d lie to me about that. But I—you put it inside of you. While you were talking to me. You fucked yourself with it, and I listened to you come.”

“You’ll need a demonstration,” Pepper said, tapping the keys on her keyboard rather forcefully.

“Absolutely,” Tony said, immediately agreeing. Then he paused. “Of what?”

“Your cost effective arc reactor.”

“Um. Hi, I’m Iron Man.” Tony put out his hand. When she ignored it, he went on, “I just happen to be a walking, talking demonstration of a successful arc reactor. Hey—”

“No one needs a big metal suit, Tony.”

“Bet you do.” His mouth turned down at the corner. “Bet I can make certain special parts of it vibrate. Just for you.”

“You need something practical.”

“Everyone wants a big metal suit,” Tony went on. “Remember Hammer? He wanted fifty of them.”

“A drone army isn’t a practical demonstration either.”

“Vanko thought it was.”

“You’re not Vanko.”

Tony didn’t say anything. 

Pepper thought about waiting, but she didn’t want to play that game again, so she looked up.

Tony looked back at her. “Was it really all the way up inside of you?” he asked. “The vibrator. Did you really come all over it, naked in bed while you were on the phone with me?”

Pepper pressed her lips together, trying to keep herself from looking away or getting embarrassed. Instead, she raised her brows. “Do you have any reasons to doubt it?”

“No. Yes.” He held her gaze, steady and dark. “I’m having trouble believing my good luck.”

Pepper tried to swallow her smile. She didn’t want him to think she could just be . . . _romanced_ like that—even though obviously she could be. She turned back to her computer. “I’ll need something for marketing,” she said, “something the board can get behind. Give me something big. Something flashy, but also something we use every day. Not a suit. Something like city transportation. A cell tower.”

“Zoning for transportation would be a bitch.”

“An airplane then,” said Pepper. “A stadium.”

Tony swung the pendulum on the toy some more. “I want a new office building in New York.”

“There you go,” she said. 

“I don’t want to live in the mansion.”

Pepper wanted to look at him, but she didn’t. “You don’t live in the mansion. You live in Malibu.”

“I don’t want to live in the mansion when I’m in New York.”

“You don’t live in the mansion when you’re in New York. You live at the Ritz.”

“Living in hotels is immature,” said Tony. “I’ve decided. I want to live in the penthouse of a building I own. And I want a pool.”

“I’ll start calling architects.”

“My assistant can do that.”

Pepper did glance at him, then. “If this is the showcase for the future of Stark Industries, it’s in the company’s interest to make sure it looks good.”

As she picked up her phone and started making a list of whom to call, Tony watched her. “After dinner tonight, we’re probably going to have sex. Just fair warning.”

Looking at her phone, Pepper raised her brows. “How do you know you’ll see me after dinner?”

“We have a date.”

“That’s interesting,” said Pepper, scrolling through her contacts. “I wasn’t asked on a date.”

“We do. If you’re coming, we have a date. You like surf and turf?”

“Is this your way of asking me?”

Tony tilted his head. “Only if you’re going to say yes.”

Pepper put down her phone. “Yes.”

“Can I pick you up?”

Pepper raised her brows. “Pick me up?”

“At your house. With my car. Can I?”

“Why don’t we just—”

“Because I want to. I want you to get dressed up and I want to drive to your house and I want to pick you up and take you out and pull out your chair, and order you wine, and pay for your food, and put a sweater thing around your shoulders as we leave and then make out and have sex in the back seat of the car.”

“Sweater thing?”

“Because you’ll be wearing something that shows your shoulders,” Tony said, half-sitting on her desk, his thigh along the edge of the table.

“You’ve thought about this a lot,” Pepper said.

“Only every other night. I can tell you exactly what I do when I think about it, but I don’t know. Maybe you wouldn’t want me to tell you here; I may end up like you did when you told me about your vibrator over the phone.”

“Maybe I want you to end up like I did.”

“Maybe you do,” Tony said, and tapped the toy again, even though it was still swinging.

Pepper watched him for a moment, eyes narrowing. “Maybe I want you to end up with a vibrator inside of you, too.”

Tony’s eyes went darker. He swallowed, then tapped the toy again.

“Tony,” Pepper began.

“I have thought about it a lot,” Tony said. “It’s fantasy number four. You, all dressed up, me taking you out, and surf and turf, and the shoulder thing, and maybe we go to a movie and make out a lot; maybe we go through a drive-through and I buy you a sundae. I don’t know, Pepper. I never did those things. At least—not the way you’re supposed to.”

Pepper felt her chest go tight. “Fantasy number four?” was all she asked.

He stood up, turned away, turned back. “You wouldn’t like the first two. Trust me.” 

“And the third?”

“What? Oh. That’s the one where you’re a stripper.”

Pepper rocked back in her seat. “I’m a stripper.”

“I think you’d make a fantastic stripper,” Tony said. “I’d be a high-roller, and I’d go to see you every night, and one night I’d finally convince you to come home with me—but you’re actually a world class thief, and I’m your mark, and the whole time you were stripping you were really just seducing me so you could get to my diamonds. Either that or you’re a super spy. I can never—”

“You—”

“—decide, but by then I’m usually coming, so it’s no wonder the details get fuzzy.” He tapped the toy again.

Pepper felt like she couldn’t stop blinking. “Did you just tell me one of your sex fantasies?”

He didn’t look at her. “I have a lot of fantasies, Pepper. Only ninety percent of them are about sex.”

Pepper looked at the toy, which was still swinging, then back up at his face. His expression was inscrutable, his eyes dark holes, his mouth curved slightly in a frown. “Pick me up at eight,” she told him gently.

Tony tapped the toy. “The reservation is at eight.”

Pepper thought her eyes might bug out of her skull. “You made a reservation?”

“Patty did it for me.” Tony tapped the toy again. “Does that still count?”

“Pick me up at seven-thirty.”

“We can forgo the date if you just wanna fuck on the desk right now,” Tony said. He still wasn’t looking at her.

“What fantasy is that?”

“Two point five?”

“Two point five?” Pepper repeated.

“And you’ll wear a shoulder thing?”

“I don’t know what you mean by shoulder thing,” said Pepper, “but yes.”

Tony tapped the toy. 

Pepper stood up. “Tony.” She came around the desk.

“I think Stark Tower is a good idea.” He just kept tapping the toy, even though it took hours to stop after the first nudge. “I think it’ll set an example.”

“Stark Tower?”

“That’s what it’s called,” said Tony. “The building in New York.”

“Don’t you mean the Stark Industries Building?”

“No.”

“No?”

“Because that’s not as cool as Stark Tower,” said Tony, “and also because I’m going to pay for it, not Stark Industries.”

“We could—”

“I want to.”

“But our offices—”

“I want to move some of them there,” Tony said. “Yes.”

“Then why—”

“So it’s there. When I’m gone. I don’t know.” He tapped the toy. “Someone can inherit it. Maybe there will be someone.”

It wasn’t that she’d never heard him talk about dying. It was that she’d never heard him be concerned about leaving anything behind, about leaving any _one_ behind, and what if he meant some _ones_? Fury had shown him video of his father, Tony had said. 

Before this moment she’d never seriously considered the possibility of Tony having children.

Fury must have done a number on him—not to mention Vanko, Hammer, Stern and all the rest.

“Tony,” she said again, and moved closer.

“I have another interview,” he said.

“I think Stark Tower is a good idea,” Pepper said.

“Of course it is. It’s mine.”

“Stop it,” said Pepper.

“Stop what?”

“Stop tipping that damn toy,” Pepper said. “It’s driving me crazy.”

“It drives me crazy too,” said Tony, tapping the toy. “I hate this thing. Why do you even have it?”

“Maybe I’ll smash you on the head with it.”

“Now that’s making use of your resources.”

“Tony,” Pepper said again. Coming closer, she put her hand over his, stopping him from swinging the toy.

“We can’t have sex on the desk right now, Pepper,” Tony said, turning to look at her. “I’m sorry. I know you’d like to, but I’m a very busy man. I have responsibilities.”

“Seven thirty,” Pepper said, taking her hand away.

“We can’t even make out,” Tony said, putting his hands in his pockets. “I’d mess up your make-up or your hair or something, and I respect you too much to treat you like an object in your place of employ.”

“That’s very nice.”

“Look, see. Not even a peck on the cheek. I’m maintaining an appropriate distance for the workplace.”

“I admire your restraint.”

Keeping his hands in his pockets, Tony looked down at the motion toy. He said, “So I was thinking when we fuck tonight, I could use your vibrator on you, and maybe finger your ass.”

Pepper’s jaw clenched to keep herself from looking shocked. “Alright,” was all she said.

He looked up, making no effort to disguise his own surprise. “Alright?”

“Yes,” said Pepper. “Now go to your interview.”

Tony opened his mouth, closed it. It made a little clicking sound. “Okay,” he said, and turned on his heel.

Then he left, and Pepper realized that a spreadsheet was never going to be enough to figure him out.

*

When Pepper first started working at Stark Industries, opportunities began to open up for her career, even as her personal life began to stagnate. Pepper’s break-up with David had been bad, and Gene’s death hit her hard. She threw herself into her work, and for the next two years or so, hardly even dated.

Stark, meanwhile, seemed to have lost interest in her. Sometimes she thought it might have had something to do with _I promise_ , whatever that meant. Sometimes she thought it might have something to do with throwing up in his car. Sometimes she thought if he pursued her now, she might even say yes, which was a good explanation for him staying away—he’d just wanted the challenge. Other times, she wondered whether he actually knew that she was in a pretty bad place right now, and whether she had actually earned enough respect from him that he could finally leave her alone.

Whatever the reason, he did leave her alone, and the central relationship in Pepper’s life became Valeria Ramirez. Val was Stark’s assistant. Pepper had gotten to know her a little during the two years Stark had been trying to get the Matisse, because he (meaning Val) had certainly set up a lot of appointments during that time—mostly with Gene (meaning Pepper). After Stark got the Matisse and Pepper started working for Stark Industries, Val had asked Pepper to lunch. 

Val, Pepper learned, had lasted longer than any other assistant Stark had ever had. It was because she was a lesbian, Val said.

Pepper didn’t think that was the only reason, though she had had her suspicions about Val’s sexuality. Val wore her hair short and never wore skirts—though Pepper was aware that plenty of lesbians wore skirts—and she pitched her voice slightly low. She didn’t want to be a man, Val said. She just liked being butch.

Pepper herself was not a lesbian. At least, she didn’t think so. “How can you be sure?” she finally had the guts to ask.

Val just smiled. “Do you like fucking men?”

“Most of the time,” said Pepper.

Val smiled wider. “Then you’re probably not a lesbian. You could always be bi, though. There’s that. Have you ever been with a woman?”

“I kissed one,” Pepper said. “In college. She, um.” She could feel herself turning pink. “She went down on me.” That was sometime between Feng and Carlos.

Val raised her brows. “Did you like it?”

Pepper went pinker. “I didn’t dislike it.”

“Look.” Val put down her zombie; they were having drinks at La Zara after work. “Plenty of straight girls ask me questions about what it’s like, how I knew, what gave it away. You’d be surprised how many. You just don’t seem the type to be asking out of morbid fascination.”

Pepper wanted to drop her gaze, and held her eyes instead. “No. I’m not the type.”

Val’s eyes narrowed. “Then how come you’re asking?”

Pepper just kept looking at her. She had a broad, strong face, full lips, heavy-lidded eyes. Her make-up was perfect, barely noticeable except to the trained eyes—subtle and natural. Looking at her, Pepper thought it was possible she could be. She might. And yet, it wouldn’t solve the essential problem, which was, “I don’t want to be one of those girls. There’s a type.” Pepper twisted the stem of her glass. “The kind who sits around and waits, just wishing someone would find her.”

“Are you even looking?” asked Val.

“I did for a while.” Pepper twisted her glass again. “The second most interesting and important relationship of my life was with an octogenarian who, by the end, needed to be helped to the bathroom.”

“Who was the first most interesting relationship with?”

Pepper downed the rest of her glass. “The human resources department at Helatrix Incorporated. They really, really didn’t want Stark Industries to absorb them.”

“I heard about that.” Val waved at the bartender. “Congratulations.”

“Actually, most of the contract negotiations have been fairly interesting. I’m told they don’t count as relationships.”

“Who told you that?”

“My last boyfriend.”

“Can we get one more of each?” Val asked the bartender, then turned back to Pepper. “What was so interesting about the octogenarian?”

“He wasn’t boring.”

“I see your problem,” said Val. “I don’t think dating a woman’s going to help you.”

They were quiet for a little while, and the bartender brought them another zombie and another martini.

“My last boyfriend also said I didn’t care about anything,” Pepper said. Her break-up with Justin had been a lot like her break up with David, which had been a lot like her break up with Carlos, actually. She seemed to be developing a pattern.

Val made a face. “Fuck ‘im. You’re one of the nicest people I’ve ever met.”

“I like being nice,” Pepper said. “But mostly I like it because other people like it when I’m nice. Then they’re easier to deal with, and I can get whatever I want out of them.”

“That’s not true,” said Val.

Pepper looked down at her drink. “I must be drunk.”

“It’s not true,” Val said again. She had to say it louder, because it had hit ten o’ clock and they were pumping the dance music up. 

“How do you know?” Pepper shouted back.

“Because,” Val said. “You’re nice to me, and you’ve never once tried to get anything out of me.”

“Of course not,” Pepper shouted. 

“Well, why not?”

Pepper looked at her like she was crazy. “You’re my best friend.”

Val seemed satisfied by that, as though she had made her point.

Pepper didn’t bother to tell her that she was her only friend.

*

Tony rang her bell at seven-ten.

Pepper opened the door. “You’re early,” she told him.

“Hi,” he said. “Wow.” His eyes got slightly larger, which didn’t actually mean anything; more than half of his expressions were put-on and sarcastic. “Gorgeous.”

Tony wore a tuxedo and looked like a million dollars. He looked like more than a million dollars, and the trouble was that he always looked that way, even when he was in a muscle shirt and covered in grease. Pepper didn’t even like facial hair; he wasn’t even her type; he just—did things to her insides. He was holding a plastic bag, twisted in his hand.

“Can I come in?” Tony said.

Pepper wanted to tell him no. She’d had this apartment for five years; he’d never been in it. He’d never had a reason to; she was surprised he even knew where she lived. She’d never thought about it before, but now that he wanted to come in, she realized it was the one itty bitty space in her life that was hers, that he couldn’t touch.

“You’re _really_ early,” she told him.

“I can be early,” Tony said.

“You’re never early.”

“Not true.” Tony’s expression was bland. “I’m early to funerals.”

Obadiah Stane’s funeral had been just as large as Gene’s; Tony hadn’t bothered to tell the press the truth about Stane. Happy had told her that two hours before his funeral, he’d driven Tony to the church. Tony had stayed there about eight minutes, then walked to the graveyard and stood by the plot. He’d stood there almost three hours until the funeral procession came, then he had left.

Pepper had seen him getting into the car in the distance. She hadn’t tried to go after him. Someone had needed to handle the press.

Pepper opened her door wider. “Don’t touch anything,” she said.

“I thought I could help you zip up your dress.” Tony walked in, looked around, turned back to her. “You know, like maybe it would be hard to reach, and I could do it for you.”

“I already zipped it,” Pepper said. 

Tony blinked. “That dress has a zipper? Where?”

“You got here early so you could help me zip my dress?”

“Or maybe I could hold up your hair while you put on a necklace.”

“I wasn’t planning on wearing a necklace,” Pepper said.

“Where is there a zipper? I don’t see a zipper.” Putting his plastic bag down, Tony tried to walk around her, Pepper turning as he went. 

“It’s in back,” she said.

“Let me see.”

The dress was green silk with an open back. Spaghetti straps pulled up from the bust wrapped around her neck. The zipper was very low, beginning just above the curve of her ass. It had been difficult to reach, but she’d been zipping herself up for years and years. Slowly, she turned around, gesturing behind her. “It’s right there.”

“Right here?” Tony said, and touched her lower back. Then he was touching the curve of her ass, and it was unbearable. She was wearing scanty underwear, and the fabric of her dress was thin, and he touched her as though he really did just want to know where the zipper was. 

“Tony,” she said, just a warning.

His other hand found her hip. “Is this g-string lace? Because you know how I feel about—”

“I have to finish drying my hair,” Pepper said, and moved away.

“It looks dry to me.”

“It’s not,” said Pepper, walking toward the bathroom.

Following her, he asked, “Can I help?”

She turned back to him, arching her brows. “You want to help me dry my hair.”

“Yes.”

“Do you even know how to use a hair dryer?”

Tony made an incredulous face. “Of course I do. How do you think I’m always so magnificently coifed?”

Her eyes flicked up to his hair. “Not with a hair dryer.”

“Show me where it is.” 

Pepper hesitated.

Tony looked like he was hesitating too; then he started to reach out.

Abruptly, Pepper turned around. “It’s in here,” she said, and led him to the bathroom.

“You have a nice place,” Tony said, following her again. “Very bed-and-breakfasty. Where’s Kitty?”

“She hides. Here.” Pepper handed him the hair-dryer.

Taking it, he frowned. “How do you—” Then he turned it on, played with the heat, blew it on his hand. “Okay,” he said, and turned it off again.

Pepper pulled the stool out from under the counter. It had a poofy seat, and she never ever used it. She sat down and handed him her comb. “Make sure you get underneath,” she said.

Tony was rarely bad at things. When he was, he didn’t do them, which was why he didn’t cook, didn’t clean, and didn’t date. After a minute of Tony drying her hair, Pepper had to close her eyes, because she could see him in the mirror. He was awful at it and clumsy; he kept pointing hot air at her neck for too long. He wore a little frown the whole time, and his hands were unbearable gentle.

After about five minutes, Tony turned off the hair-dryer. “This is a piece of shit,” he said, and when she looked up, he was fiddling with the hair-dryer.

“Don’t take apart my hair-dryer.”

“I’m serious, Pepper. It’s like they took a petrified ass full of shit that was still occasionally and lethargically crepitating, and decided to apply alternating currents to see if they could supercharge its flatulence.”

“Now I’m never using my hair-dryer again.”

“Great,” said Tony. “Because you shouldn’t. I’ll build you a new one.”

“I don’t want a new one,” said Pepper.

Tony was still scowling at the hair-dryer. “Let’s buy this company and shove this particular model up the gaping asshole of the shit-hawking industry that is household appliances.”

“If you do anything to my hair-dryer, I won’t let you do what I said I would tonight.”

“Speaking of ass,” Tony said softly, but he put down the hair-dryer. He looked her over. “Can I put on your earrings?”

Standing up, Pepper opened a drawer and took out her foundation. “You can wear anything of mine you choose, Tony.”

The corner of Tony’s mouth twitched; she saw it in the mirror. “I meant, put them on you,” he said, drawing his thigh up on the counter, leaning on it.

“We’ll see,” Pepper said, rubbing the sponge in the foundation.

“Can you please not put that on?”

She paused. “What?”

“Just don’t wear it. Just forget it exists.”

Her hand hovered over the sponge. “Is this about freckles?”

“Yes.”

“You have a kink.”

“A little one. Lots of little ones. Hundreds of little ones, actually, all over. Did you know you have freckles on your thighs?”

“Yes, Tony. They’re my thighs.”

“I wish they were my thighs.”

Pepper raised her brows. “You want to wear my skirts as well as my earrings?”

“No, I wish your thighs were mine. I wish I owned them. I wish I could put them in a box and take them out whenever I needed to look at something . . . lush.”

“What about the rest of my body?”

“I’ll let you keep it. I assume you need it for things like . . . bathing. Setting appointments. Getting dressed. You don’t need any make-up at all, really.”

She had put down the foundation and picked up the eye-shadow. “Are you really going to tell me what make-up I can wear?”

“No. Yes?” Tony crossed his hands on his thigh, then uncrossed them. “What would you say if I did?”

“I’d say you’re not funny,” she said, leaning in to look at the mirror as she put on the eye-shadow.

Tony watched her for a while, just watched her—watched her put on eyeliner and mascara but no blush and no foundation. It wasn’t that Pepper disliked her freckles or anything; it was just the colors all matched better with a little foundation, but if he liked them all that much, it was fine.

It really shouldn’t be fine. It shouldn’t be fine that he could just sashay into her apartment and into her bathroom while she was getting ready and into her—everything. It shouldn’t be fine, but Pepper was trying to mind, and she just couldn’t.

“Can I at least choose your earrings?” Tony said, as she put on her lip-gloss.

“Depends on what you choose.”

“I already know which ones. I just want to look at all of them.”

Pepper glanced at him. He was playing with her curling iron, which seemed like a really, really bad idea. “How can you already know which ones?” she asked, doing one last touch up on her lips.

“The little hangy diamond teardrop ones.”

Frowning, Pepper put the top on the gloss and turned to him. “You remember my earrings?”

He just stared at her. “Did you think I didn’t notice you?”

“But you . . .” She swallowed. “You . . .”

“When I stopped flirting with you, it wasn’t because I stopped paying attention.”

“You’ve flirted with me. You’ve been flirting with me ever since the Firefighters’ Family Fund benefit.”

“You’re never going to forget that, are you?”

“You know, I actually thought we were starting something,” said Pepper, turning to leave the bathroom. “Then you left me on the balcony.”

“You were wearing that dress,” Tony said, following her. “That blue thing, and I—this is your room.”

Pepper went over to her dresser.

Tony hovered over near the door, looking around. “Pepper’s bedroom,” he said, just as if she wasn’t there. “This is where she sleeps.”

Pepper opened the box on her dresser.

“That’s the bed,” Tony went on, looking at the bed. “That’s where you fingered yourself and brought yourself off with your vibrator while listening to me and—and that was where it was, wasn’t it?”

“These are my earrings,” said Pepper. “If you want to look.”

Tony turned to her. “Can I look at the vibrator?”

Pepper checked her clock. “It’s getting late. We should go.”

“It’s not time to go yet,” Tony said, but he came over to her.

She put the earrings in his hand, and Tony put them in her ears. He wasn’t fumbling with this; she guessed she shouldn’t be surprised. He worked a lot on cars, but he also worked a lot on motherboards; he could do delicate work. Besides, she was pretty sure he’d had an earring, once. It must have filled in.

“Sharp little hooks,” he said, and put the other one in. Then his thumb slid behind her ear, down to the spot underneath her jaw, on her throat. “Thank you for not wearing sleeves,” he said.

Pepper moved away. As she went to get her shoes from her closet, he started looking at her other earrings. When she sat on the bed to put the shoes on, he left the earrings alone, and came to stand in front of her. “Let me,” he said, and sank to his knees.

“What are you doing?” she asked finally, because she just couldn’t stand it anymore, and she wasn’t giving him her shoes.

“Putting on your shoes?”

“Why?”

“Gimme.”

Pepper held onto her shoes. “What are you really doing?”

Tony looked at her. Looked away. Licked his lips. “Being your boyfriend?”

“Boyfriends don’t dry my hair and look at my earrings and put on my shoes.”

Tony put a hand on her knee and looked at it, as though he didn’t want to look her in the eyes. “This boyfriend does.”

“Boyfriends don’t tell me whether I can wear make-up or . . .”

“Or what?” He did look up, then. “Come on and tell me, Pepper. What else don’t boyfriends do?”

Pepper didn’t know what to say, and his hand slid up her thigh.

His hand rubbed her thigh through her dress. “They don’t ask what your other boyfriends did to you, do they. It doesn’t turn them on. I bet they don’t fuck other men. I bet they never even snorted cocaine.”

“Stop.”

His hand just kept rubbing her thigh. “Did they ever treat you like an object? Did you ever have to break up for them with a women they’d just fucked because they were too preoccupied to bother? Did you ever have to cover up things in the press for them?”

“Tony—”

His voice was low and steady, silky, as though seducing her. “I bet they never created weapons of mass destruction. I bet they never even murdered anybody; how’s that for a perfect boyfriend? A man who never once took an innocent life and never once sucked cock.”

“I’m not going to go on a date with you if you act like this,” said Pepper, doing everything she could to keep her voice from trembling.

He just kept looking at her, his eyes seeming almost black in this light. “Let me put on your shoes, Pepper.”

Silently, she gave him her shoes. He put one on the ground, and picked up her foot, hands gentle. He slid her foot through the straps, then did the little buckle in back. Then he picked up the other shoe.

“I got you a present,” he said, when he was done.

“What?” Pepper still thought she might start crying.

“Yeah,” he said, and looked up again. “A present. Like flowers or chocolates or—a boutonnière. You know. I heard somewhere you were supposed to do that.”

“Boutonnières are for men.”

“I know. I mean, maybe I read it. I didn’t get you a boutonnière. Or a necklace.”

“I don’t want a necklace.”

“Good.” 

Tony tugged on her hand. When they got to the living-room, he picked up the plastic bag he’d brought and gave it to her. She opened it and took out the plastic package. It was an action figure.

“This is Captain America,” she said, mostly because she didn’t get it at all.

Tony shrugged. “They’re not finished with production on the action figures of me, yet.”

Frowning, Pepper looked up at him. “I told you I don’t want Captain America.”

“Good,” said Tony, “because he’s not here.”

Pepper kept frowning. “Why would you give me a Captain America action figure?”

“Because I told you before he was the only one I can think of who could really deserve you,” said Tony. 

“Tony.” Pepper put Captain America back in the bag.

“You’re not even going to open him? He has articulated joints.”

“Tony,” Pepper said again.

“The package said. I got him off E-Bay. He’s vintage.”

Pepper came closer. She put a hand on his face, tried to kiss him.

Tony reared back, but held onto her elbows. He looked her straight in the eye, something almost awkward at this angle. “I just wanted you to know, I’m gonna earn it.” His hands slid up her bare arms, his touch very light. “I’ll be Captain America. I’ll be good and just and pure.” Then he leaned in to kiss her, and it was gentler than anything she’d ever seen or felt him do—just his lips, very softly against hers. “I’ll try,” he whispered.

Pepper opened her mouth, touched her tongue to his bottom lip, and he pulled away. His open mouth breathed against her jaw, along her cheek, into her ear. “Don’t ever tell anyone I said that. If anyone asks, Captain America was a dweeb in a dumb costume.”

Pepper pulled his face away so that she could kiss his mouth.

“Mm,” Tony said, pulling away. “I’m serious, here. You can’t tell anyone.” When Pepper leaned in again, he leaned back. “Promise.”

Pepper pulled away. Going to her bedroom, she picked up the cloth she’d laid over a chair. When she came back, Tony was petting her cat, who was standing on her kitchen table.

“Found Kitty,” Tony said. Then he patted it on the head, because he didn’t know anything about cats.

Pepper handed him the cloth. “This goes around my shoulders,” she told him.

His eyes gleaming, he took the cloth, and wrapped it around her shoulders.

*

Pepper eventually became Tony Stark’s personal assistant because Val went overseas to live with her girlfriend, now wife. It didn’t happen immediately. Stark went through nine other assistants in the space of a year and a half, before he hired Pepper. 

The first one was Sylvia. She was fine, but Stark kept missing important appointments. The companies with whom Pepper was working wanted to _meet_ the CEO, even when she informed them that Mister Stark often didn’t involve himself directly with some contracts.

“Some contracts?” Stark looked amused.

“They would be put out if I told them you didn’t involve yourself with any.” Pepper crossed her arms over her chest.

Giving her a measuring look, Stark asked, “Why are you here again?”

“Because you can’t miss this one.”

“Uh-huh. Where’s Sylvia?”

Pepper gritted her teeth. “I don’t know.”

“Why didn’t you get a peon to do it?”

Pepper was actually grinding her jaw, now. “Because you can’t _miss_ this one,” was all she said.

“Uh-huh,” Stark said again, and went.

Ariana, the second assistant, was also fine, but Stark still kept missing his appointments. And forgetting to sign the papers that she had sent to his desk.

“Why are you always in my office, Miss Potts?” Stark asked her, after Ariana had been there several weeks.

“Maybe if you were in it more often,” Pepper said, “I would have less to take care of.”

“Are you suggesting I don’t do my job?”

“Yes. That is exactly what I am suggesting.”

“Interesting.” 

Pepper tried to hand him a square piece of cardstock, but Stark just looked down at it. “What’s that?”

“An invitation for the Eskell Charity Ball.”

“You’re inviting me to a ball?”

“Mister Eskell is inviting you to a ball. I suggest you go. He’s running for senator.” Pepper waved the paper.

“I don’t like being handed things,” Stark said, eyeing it. “Why are _you_ giving me an invitation?”

“Because it’s important.”

“Uh-huh,” Stark said again. “Why are you going through my mail?”

“I’m just trying to do my job,” Pepper said. “Go to the ball.”

“Maybe I will,” Stark said, and went.

The assistant after that was Meena, and Stark not only missed appointments and didn’t sign necessary documents; he also didn’t answer emails from investors who wished for more personal connections, or work to keep up any kind of relationships with the company’s connections. He even stopped returning Mister Stane’s calls.

“Why are you telling me this?” Stark asked her.

“Because you need to—”

“I mean, why isn’t Mia telling me this?”

“Meena,” said Pepper. “Mia is the girl you slept with last night.”

“That’s right. How do you know who I slept with last night?”

“Because I called you last night. While you were sleeping with her.”

“Actually.” Stark stroked his beard. He’d left off shaving his lips and chin, lately. Instead he wore a neatly trimmed Van Dyke. “That wasn’t everyone I slept with last night.”

Pepper rolled her eyes in exasperation. “I called because you missed an important _business_ meeting with a potential client whom we may be taking _over_.”

“I thought it was more of a ‘drop in if you have time’ sort of deal,” Tony said. “Nobody told me—”

“I told you.”

“Hm. How nice of you.”

“Mister Stark—”

“How about this. I’ll let Mia go. You can be her replacement.”

“No.”

“I meant Meena.”

“Absolutely not.”

“Seriously, Potts, I meant Meena.”

“No way,” said Pepper.

“Why not?”

“I will _not_ be your assistant.”

“It’s not like it’s not a respectable position,” Stark said. “I’ll pay you twice whatever you’re making.”

“I already said no.”

“Triple.”

“No.”

“You drive a hard bargain. Quadruple. And I’ll throw in a jet. Why not.”

“I won’t be your assistant, Mister Stark.”

“You do realize the salary I’m offering you is over a million dollars.”

“It’s almost two million. Also, no.”

“And the jet,” Stark pointed out.

“I don’t need a jet,” said Pepper. “I can use yours whenever I want.”

“So be it,” Stark said. It sounded ominous. 

The fourth assistant was Wanda, and she was a bimbo. 

“She has absolutely no work experience,” Pepper pointed out.

“Sooo.” Stark drew the word out, tone smooth. “Why do _you_ get to bitch me out about _my_ assistants?”

“Maybe if you didn’t hire them based on cup-size, I wouldn’t.”

Stark opened his mouth, then closed it. His eyes darted to her chest, then back up to her face. “What should I do about it?”

Pepper had to stop herself from physically rocking back. “You’re asking me?”

He smirked. “Yes, Miss Potts. I’m asking you.”

Swallowing, Pepper contained the rest of her shock. “Let her work with Sherry, and hire a new assistant.”

“Maybe I’ll just fire her.”

“Don’t fire her,” Pepper said.

“Why not? You said she didn’t have any work experience.” He tilted his head. “Come on and say it.”

“It wouldn’t be fair,” said Pepper.

“Because I slept with her.” Stark looked around. “I slept with her here. In this office, in fact. On that desk.”

Pepper stayed steady. She’d learned she had to, with Stark. “I imagine there was very little sleeping involved.”

Stark turned steady eyes back onto her. “Give me your real opinion about why I shouldn’t fire her.”

“Alright.” Pepper held his eyes. “I dislike it when you’re an asshole.”

“Uh-huh.”

“And stop saying ‘uh-huh’ to me.”

The corner of Stark’s mouth slid into a smirk. “What should I say?”

“A simple acknowledgement would do.”

“I thought that was uh-huh.”

“A simple _respectful_ acknowledgement.”

Something flickered in Stark’s eyes. “Yes, ma’am.”

He didn’t fire Wanda. He sent her to work with Sherry, and then hired Carol, who was ten times the bimbo Wanda had been.

“You’re doing this on purpose,” Pepper finally said one day.

“Doing what?” Stark’s voice was bland.

“You’re hiring incompetents on purpose.”

“Okay,” said Stark, not changing expressions. “You hire them.”

“That’s not in my job description.”

“None of the things you do are in your job description anymore.”

Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. “It’s still my job.”

“Is it?”

“You hired them on purpose.”

“I thought a lot about what you said about cup-size.” Stark was lounging at his desk, in front of his huge floor-to-ceiling office window. “I decided you were right, and needed to go one bigger.”

“You may be by far the least amusing man I have ever met.”

“The offer still stands,” said Stark. “You can be my assistant. Quadruple salary.”

Pepper waited. And waited. “What about the jet?”

“Off the table,” he said idly. “I gave it to Wanda.”

“You didn’t give Wanda a jet.”

“I gave _someone_ a jet.”

“I won’t be your assistant. I have my own career, thank you.”

“You think you won’t have your own career as my assistant?”

“I don’t want to be a secretary.”

“Don’t use that word, Potts. It’s not that word.”

“You’re right. Secretaries don’t have to wake you up and make sure you’re shaved. What word am I looking for?”

“Auxiliary?”

“Slave.”

“Adjutant.”

“Nanny,” said Pepper.

“I’ve got it. Lieutenant.”

“Lieutenants also don’t have to make sure you drink responsibly or clean up your vomit.”

“I’m sure they did, in the old days. When I was twelve.”

“They didn’t have to design their own war plans because the king was an incompetent slob.”

“You should read your history. Some lieutenants were even personally in charge of removing their captain’s armor after battle.”

“You don’t have armor.

“Are you sure?” Stark leered. “Be my lieutenant, Miss Potts. Fight by my side in a war.”

“I won’t,” said Pepper.

“Then don’t,” said Stark. “Just hire me a new assistant.”

So Pepper hired Steven, a smart young man with an excellent career ahead of him. Steven was looking to get ahead, but not at the expense of his job, and she thought that four or five years as Stark’s executive assistant would give him the experience and connections he needed to be the entrepreneur he dreamed.

“You slept with him,” Pepper told Stark. She’d recovered from the shock, but only just.

“With who? I just sleep with so many people; I can’t keep—”

“With Steven.”

“Ah, yes. _Steve_.”

“I can’t believe it.”

“I’m sorry.” Stark’s lip curled. “Do I live in a red state all the sudden?”

“What?” Pepper didn’t even know what he was talking about. “No. I just—”

Stark just kept sneering. “You pick a blond, blue-eyed man with stupidly broad shoulders, innocence, and an eagerness to please. Named Steve. Tell me you weren’t trying to provoke me, Potts.”

“I wasn’t trying to provoke you,” Pepper said. “I don’t even know what you—”

“Of course, you weren’t trying to provoke me.” Stark slumped in his chair, turned it around to face the window.

“Maybe if you weren’t having a hissy fit,” said Pepper, “you could tell me what your problem is.”

“I don’t like well-meaning people. I don’t like blonds,” he went on, even though that had been disproven on multiple occasions, “and I don’t like Steves. I need a new assistant.”

“Hiring assistants isn’t my job.”

“I could make it your job.”

“I would quit.” Pepper frowned at his back. “Steve—”

Stark swiveled his chair around, pinning her with his eyes. “ _Steve_ has come into a sudden shitload of capital and friendly business advisors so he can start up his nonprofit to save puppies or what the fuck ever; stop bothering me about _Steve_.”

“There is absolutely nothing wrong with the name Steve,” said Pepper, “so stop treating it like a dirty word. He was a good man, and I can’t believe that you would seduce—”

“Christ. Get out.”

“I’m not finished.”

“Yes, you are,” said Stark. “Get out.”

Pepper had never heard him talk that way before, so she turned around. Her high heels clacked on his floor as she walked toward the door, and then he said, “Miss Potts.”

She stopped, her hand on the handle.

“The offer still stands,” he said softly. She turned around. He was facing her in the chair, and sometimes his eyes could be so intense, she didn’t like looking at them. “Triple your salary,” Stark said. “Be my assistant.”

“Last time it was quadruple,” Pepper pointed out.

“This is your last chance,” said Stark, so Pepper walked out the door.

The seventh assistant after Val was Shivani. Shivani was middle-aged, fairly unattractive, married, very good at what she did and looking to get better. Pepper thought she was perfect until Shivani called her in the middle of the night and quit.

Pepper was at the Stark Mansion at five the next morning. J.A.R.V.I.S., the new home security system that Stark was prototyping, told her who was present at the residence, and rang the alarm in Stark’s room when she asked.

When Stark wandered into the kitchen, yawning, he wore nothing but what God gave him.

Pepper barely spared him a glance. “This is your breakfast,” she said, and handed him a paper bag. “Here is your coffee.” She put a mug into his hands. “While you drink it, I’m going to get your suit, and pack you a bag. Then you’re going to put it on, and get on the nine o’ clock plane.” She started typing on the laptop she’d hooked up in the kitchen, solidifying his itinerary.

He opened his mouth.

Without looking up from her typing, she went on, “And you’re not going to argue, because this meeting is very important, and I won’t have this contract jeopardized because you partied too hard and couldn’t keep it in your pants.”

“Shivani told on me,” Stark said, then sipped his coffee.

“Shivani quit.”

“Too bad. I was just beginning to like her.” He put down the coffee. “I can’t go to L.A.”

“You’re going to L.A.”

“I’m going to L.A.,” said Stark, “just not this morning.”

“You’re going to L.A. this morning if I have to taser you and get Happy to carry you.”

“I’m going to L.A. this morning,” said Stark. “I just couldn’t possibly make the nine o’clock.”

“Give me one reason why not.”

“Okay.” He sipped his coffee. “In fact, I have two reasons. Really, there should be three, but Melissa was a bit of a spoil sport. I think Shivani scared her away.”

“Two reasons.”

“Their names are Linda and Ada.”

“Those aren’t reasons,” Pepper pointed out. “They’re names.”

Benignly, Stark just kept sipping coffee. “If I kick them out, they’ll bitch. I don’t like bitching. I mean, being bitched at. They’ll make a fuss, ‘Tony this’ and ‘Tony that’; it’ll take forever to get them off my back. They might even seduce me.” He glanced at her over the rim of his mug. “I’m helpless when anyone seduces me.” He took the last swig of coffee, and put down the mug. “If I don’t kick them out—well, then they’ll be here. In my house. I don’t like people being alone in my house. It’s my house. My space. So, see?” Stark opened up the paper bag and started poking through it. “Impossible to leave here by nine.” 

“You’re not leaving here by nine,” Pepper said. “You’re leaving here by eight.”

Stark pulled out the breakfast sandwich, started unwrapping it. “Did I not adequately explain Aida and Lucinda?”

“Ada and Linda.”

“Who?”

“I’ll take care of them,” Pepper said.

Stark paused, the sandwich halfway to his mouth. “What?”

“If you get cleaned up and leave on time, I’ll take care of Ada and Linda.”

Stark looked as though he was on the edge of making a dirty joke, then didn’t. Instead, he took a bite of the sandwich, chewing thoroughly. Pepper went back to typing. “It’s not as easy as it sounds,” Stark said eventually. “There’s the bitching.”

“I’ll handle it.”

“They’ll try to call me. I don’t like it when people call me.”

“They won’t call.”

“Or show up unexpectedly,” Stark went on.

“They won’t show up unexpectedly,” said Pepper.

“So.” Stark took another bite of the sandwich, not bothering to finish chewing before he went on, “Still don’t want to be my assistant?”

“No.”

“Double your salary,” Stark said, taking another bite.

Pepper said no, and hired a man named Neil to be Shivani’s replacement. Neil quit in under a month, because if Stark’s whole problem was hiring people who were incompetent, Pepper’s problem was hiring people who were too competent to put up with his bullshit.

Six months later, Stark turned to her as she briefed him on his meetings for the day and said, “You never hired another assistant.”

“Will that be all, Mister Stark?” Pepper asked.

Stark sat back at his desk, regarding her with dark eyes. “You took the job you didn’t want,” he said finally, “and kept the same salary.”

“I didn’t keep the same salary.”

Stark’s eyes narrowed. “What did you just say?”

“I didn’t keep the same salary,” said Pepper. “I put in a request for a raise.”

Stark’s jaw hardened. “Who? Who did you request? Did Obie—”

“Mister Stane didn’t do anything,” Pepper said. “You did.”

“I did what?”

“You gave me a raise.”

“No, I didn’t.”

“I see,” Pepper said. “A permanent bonus.”

“What makes you think it was me?”

“Because,” said Pepper. “You signed off on it?”

“Why would I do something like that?”

“Because,” Pepper said again. “I handed you the form, and you signed it.”

“You handed me the form,” he said, his voice low.

“And you signed it,” Pepper said.

Stark looked away. After a moment he said, his voice still quite low, “That will be all, Miss Potts.”

*

Tony took her to an expensive restaurant for their date. They ate fish; he ordered wine, and he talked at length about Stark Tower. She talked back—about the site, affordability, marketing. If he was going to power an office building on Manhattan with an arc reactor, there were going to be zoning issues. 

She knew that they probably weren’t supposed to discuss work on a date like this. Plenty of her other dates had told her that. She’d never gone out with them again, because they’d told her she was supposed to talk about her _real_ life, and this was her real life. This was the thing she was most interested in, above all things, and she knew that her mother and Laura and Leona and even Happy thought it pretty much made her a freak, but she didn’t care. Going to dinner and talking about zoning permits sounded pretty much like the best date she’d ever had.

“Can we do this every day?” Tony asked, during dessert. “I feel like I could do this every day.”

“I can’t do this every day,” Pepper said, scraping the mousse off her plate. “This dress can’t stand that much dry-cleaning.”

“Don’t wear that dress,” said Tony. “Wear something else. Wear your blue dress.”

“Which blue dress?” she said, licking her spoon. “I have three.”

“Oh. Wear all of them.”

“At the same time?”

“Pepper, please stop doing that to your spoon. I’m unnecessarily turned on.”

Pepper hadn’t actually meant to tease. She was just enjoying the mousse. “Doing what to my spoon?” she asked.

“Fellating it.”

Pepper licked her spoon again.

His eyes darkened. “Let’s go.”

“I’m not done yet.”

“Bring your spoon with you. You can play with it in the car.”

“You haven’t paid.”

Tony reached into his pocket, then threw a credit card on the table.

“You need to get that back,” she pointed out.

The corner of his lips twitched. “Wanna see a movie?”

“No.”

“Wanna make out in my car?”

“Maybe.”

Tony licked his lips. The waiter came by, and Tony picked up the credit card. “We’re leaving,” he told the waiter. “Can you just put as big of a tip on this as you want, then mail it to me?”

“Of course, Mister Stark,” said the waiter.

“See?” Tony said, when he was gone. 

“You make it difficult for them,” Pepper said.

“I don’t make it difficult. I don’t make anything difficult. Let me.”

Pepper was standing up, picking up her wrap. He took it from her, moving behind her to wrap it around her shoulders. When it was settled, he didn’t move, just leaned in to talk into her ear. “We could always just go back to your apartment.” His tone tended not to change, even when his voice was very, very soft. 

“We’re not going back to my apartment.”

“We’re not?” His hand slid down her waist, settling on her hip. “I still need to put that vibrator in your cunt.”

Pepper looked around the restaurant, but no one was looking at them. Even though she could feel herself turning pink, she kept her voice steady. “Well, then, it’s a good thing I have it with me.”

He made a soft choking sound. “It’s not—it’s not . . . not _in_ you. Is it?”

Smiling, Pepper angled her head to look back at him. “It’s in my purse.”

“This purse?” Moving away, Tony grabbed the clutch on the table. “This purse right here?” 

Then he opened it, and Pepper sort of thought about telling him that he couldn’t just open a woman’s purse like that. He couldn’t just take it without permission and look inside of it, rifle through her things. He was a terrible date, really, but Pepper didn’t care. Tony was making a soft wounded animal sound, looking in her clutch.

“You.” Tony swallowed, looking up from the clutch. “You had your bag on the table. For almost half the meal. You had this on the table with this inside it and—” He closed it quickly, looking around the restaurant. “Come on.” He held the clutch in one hand and tugged her arm with the other.

He held it all the way to the car. When they got in and he started driving, Pepper said, “You’re speeding.”

Tony shifted gears. He always drove a manual, if he drove at all. She found it hopelessly sexy, and would never tell him, even on pain of death. 

“Now you’re going even faster,” Pepper pointed out.

“Speeding isn’t against the law,” Tony said.

“Actually,” Pepper said. “It is.”

“Did they change it?”

“It’s always been that way.”

“Wow. Someone should have told me.”

“I’m telling you right now,” Pepper said.

Tony didn’t slow down.

“Give me back my purse.”

“Nope.” He was holding the wheel with one hand and her purse with the other. Whenever he had to shift, he left it in his lap, but once he was done, it always came back, as if he couldn’t stop touching it.

When Pepper put her hand on his thigh, he snatched the clutch away, as though she was going to steal it. Pepper leaned in to talk into his ear. “Give me my purse and slow down, or we’re not doing anything.”

Tony made a sound. He glanced at her, then back at the road. “Can you do that? I thought you couldn’t do that.”

“Do what?”

“Threaten your partner with taking away sex. Just because they’re doing something you don’t like. I thought it violated the partners’ ethics code.”

Pepper sat back in her seat. “Consider it violated.”

Tony began to slow down. He reached out with the purse, but when she started to take it, pulled it back. “Just be careful with it,” he said. “There’s something very important in there.”

“Like tampons and my _driver’s_ license?”

“More important than that,” he said, and gave it to her. Then he really slowed down, because there was a red light. Tapping the steering wheel impatiently, he said, “I think I’ll invent a transporter.” He glanced at her purse. “Can I see it?”

“You already saw it.”

“Just a little peek.”

“Tony,” Pepper said. “It’s not a prize diamond, or a billion dollar piece of tech. It’s a vibrator.”

“A vibrator that was in _side_ of you.” Tony kept drumming his hands on the wheel. 

“I don’t see how that’s—” Then the light turned green, and he accelerated so fast Pepper pressed up hard against the back of her seat. His hand kept going on the shift, and she tried not to look at it. “Slow _down_ ,” she said instead.

He glanced at her. “Are you still threatening to withhold sex?”

“Yes!”

“Okay,” he said, and slowed down. “But can I see it?”

He went on that way all the way to his house, which was really a much shorter trip than it should have been. Once he’d parked, he jumped out of the car, jogged around to her side as she was starting to get out. He was there in time to tug on her arm and slam her car door closed, then he was tugging her toward the door. “Come on, come on,” he said. “Things to do, people to see, toys to play with.”

She supposed she should have been upset about the way he was yanking on her arm, but she was really only slower than he because she was in high heels. By the time they were inside and he was pushing her up against the door, she was kissing him back just as ardently as he was kissing her.

His hands found her hips, rubbing circles with the silky fabric against her skin. “Drive me crazy,” he muttered, and pulled away. She reached for him, but then he pulled her around, and she was facing the door. When she tried to turn around, he held her there, hands on her hips again. “I just want to,” he whispered in her ear.

Then he was unzipping her, the spot low on her back. She could feel the fabric opening against her skin, could hear the low purr of the zip, could feel the series of little catches in his breath as he pulled it down and down and down. His lips found her shoulder. “Missed you,” he said, and kissed her, and unzipped her. “When I was in DC. Missed you. Wanted . . .”

His breath caught again, his hands spreading the fabric of her dress so that it opened across her ass. “Want,” he said, his hand hooking around the upper strap of her g-string.

Pepper didn’t move. She didn’t exactly want to move. She wasn’t sure what he was going to do; she just wanted him to do it, and so she stood very still.

His hand tugged on the strap, and he sank to his knees. “Pepper,” he said, and she could feel his breath on her buttock. Then she could feel his beard on her ass—and then at last, his lips. He kissed her seemingly at random, until she realized with embarrassment that he was probably finding freckles.

Then his teeth scraped down the length of her glut muscle—firm, but not sharp, hard enough so that she knew it was his teeth and nothing else. He tugged the strap again, then bit the place where thigh met buttock. Hard.

When Pepper cried out, he stood up again.

He started to say, “Thought I could make you—”

But Pepper kissed him. She kissed him hard and pushed, forcing him back until they were finally out of the foyer, until she could finally taste his tongue, until she was tearing at his bow-tie. 

His hands locked around her wrists when she was done untying it, and he pulled away. “You dropped your purse,” he pointed out.

“Then get it,” she told him.

For a moment he just looked at her, and she was so close she could actually see the black dilate, swallowing brown. “Okay.”

He went and picked up her purse, and she took off her dress. There was nothing to it—he’d already unzipped it, and she simply had to untie the straps at her neck to let the whole thing pool to the floor.

Tony turned around, saw her there, and stopped. “Hm,” he said, as though contemplatively, and leaned back against the door. He brought her purse up to his chest and tapped it there absently, just looking at her, as though working through a problem.

Pepper was wearing just her bra, g-string and high heels. “Are you coming?” she asked. 

“I might not,” Tony said.

Pepper raised her brows.

Tony looked at her, then glanced down at the purse, where his gaze lingered. Snapping it open, he looked inside. Then he took out the vibrator, and tossed the purse aside.

If Pepper had known that Tony was going to become so utterly obsessed with this, she might have chosen a nicer vibrator—not that she actually had that many to choose from. She had two others, and neither was particularly exciting in terms of special features or aesthetics. After all—for God’s sake—they were just _vibrators_. 

Tony turned it on. Looked at it for a moment, turned it off again. Turned it over, held it with both hands, as though testing the weight or length. Then he pulled it under his nose, the way one would a fine cigar. When he brought it down, he glanced up. “Just checking,” he said quickly. He even looked sort of guilty, which was so rare she didn’t quite know what to do with it.

“I told you I washed it,” she said softly.

“I just . . .” He put the vibrator in his pocket, where it didn’t actually fit. Pepper thought it was a terrible joke waiting to happen, but Tony just leaned there against the door with his hand and the vibrator in his pocket, and looked at her. “Take off your bra,” he said finally.

“Excuse me?”

Tony blinked, and looked away. Then almost as quickly, he looked back. “Wanna go to the bedroom?”

Reaching behind her, Pepper unhooked her bra. Strapless, it came off.

Tony swallowed. “Okay. Wanna go to the bedroom?”

Pepper walked over to him, and he just watched her. When she was close enough, she kissed him. He let her, responded to her lips, but his own were easy, languid, non-aggressive. She kissed him deeper and deeper, and he let her and let her. When she slid her hands under the shoulders of his suit coat, he at last pulled away. “You’re awfully impatient,” he said.

“Wanna go to the bedroom?” she asked him.

“What?” he said. “Now you’re going to act like it’s your idea?”

Smiling, she took his hand. She turned and headed for the bedroom, and he followed along behind. Once they were there, she turned to kiss him again, and he began pushing her gently toward the bed. When the backs of her knees hit it, she sank down. He put her vibrator on the bed, then sank to his knees in front of her.

“Just let me,” he said, and reached for her foot. He undid the strap of her shoe, slid it off, then switched over to the other one. When he was done, he tugged the upper strap of her g-string again. “And these.”

She lifted her hips so that he could get them off, and with several tugs, they were gone. She watched to see whether he would do anything with them, but he didn’t, just tossed them aside. Then she moved back on the bed. He took off his shoes and socks, but nothing else, then got on the bed beside her. When she tried to take off his coat again, he stopped her. “Just a little while longer,” he said.

It felt strange to be utterly naked while the person beside her was almost fully clothed, but she guessed he liked it that way, and it wasn’t as if Pepper had never done it before. She kissed him instead, and he let her—but strangely, she knew he was just letting her, as though he was no longer interested in kissing, and she didn’t know what he was interested in. But then his fingers started ghosting over the crease of her ass as they kissed, and she knew. She remembered.

“Do you have . . . .” She blushed, and didn’t want to. “Lubricant?”

His fingers settled more firmly against her crease—pushing between her buttocks, but not searching out the ring of muscle that would let him inside. “Yes,” was all he said.

“Are you going to use it?” Pepper asked.

He swallowed, eyes searching her face. “Whatever you want.”

“Use it,” she said, and turned away from him.

There was a pause, and then he kissed the bump her collarbone made on her shoulder. “You won’t regret it,” he said, with a bit of a croak, then moved away.

There were sounds—Tony in a drawer in the room and she should look and see, but she already knew where he kept all his sex toys. There were more in one of the closets. It wasn’t that she had ever actively wanted to know before. He just—didn’t do a good job of hiding them, really, and sometimes she had to find things for him and she’d accidentally found them. 

And neither of them had talked about having anal sex—well, they kind of had, except he’d only said he wanted to finger her there. She couldn’t tell whether he remembered that, or whether he wanted to do something else now, something more. On the spreadsheet she had put that she was willing, eight out of ten, to have anal sex. Eight was a pretty high number. She’d done this before.

“Over,” Tony said, and pushed on her shoulder.

She was lying on her side, so she rolled over to lay on her stomach.

When Tony put his hands on her, it wasn’t in the way she expected. First he swept aside her hair; then there was a pause. When he touched her shoulders, thumbs toward the center, his hands were covered in oil. Then he started massaging, thorough and slow and good, and Pepper twisted her neck to try to see him behind her. “You didn’t say you were going to do this.”

“Yes, I did.”

Pepper crossed her arms, put her head on folded hands. “Pretty sure you didn’t.”

“I said I was going to make you feel good, didn’t I?” He just kept rubbing, getting lower and lower.

“Actually, in fact, you said we were going to fuck in the back seat of your car.”

“Sounds good. Why didn’t I think of that?”

“You were too excited about the vibrator.”

“Oh, right.” He kept on rubbing, his thumbs digging into the small of her back, fingers kneading and unknotting every single muscle as he went, until at last, he was at her ass. Then he put more oil on his hands and rubbed that too, just like he had done her back.

“Are you going to use it on me?” Pepper asked.

“What?”

“The vibrator.”

“You’re awfully concerned about the vibrator. What are you, obsessed with it?”

“So you’re not excited about it at all.”

“Don’t go putting words into my mouth.” He leaned down until his voice could be low and silky in her ear. “Trust me, Pepper. I’m . . . positively . . .” He drew the words out: “. . . _enraptured_ by your vibrator. In fact . . .” He kept kneading her ass, “I’m pretty much delirious about anything that’s ever been in your cunt. Ever.”

“Remind me not to tell you about my Pap smears.”

The hands stopped. “Will you?”

Pepper craned her neck to see him over her shoulder. “Are you—”

“Never mind,” Tony said quickly, then went on, “Looks like you got bit right here.” His hands had moved down her ass to the junction of buttock and thigh. “You should be careful, Pepper. Letting things bite you.”

Pepper turned back around. “I’ll keep it in mind.”

Then he was rubbing her thighs—after another long few minutes, her calves, and then her feet. Pepper felt boneless and oily and for the most part confused, but she guessed it was sort of hard to argue if Tony wanted to give her a full-body massage. Maybe she should. But it was hard.

At last, his hands moved back to her ass, massaging that area again with more oil. His fingers moved along her crease, separating her buttocks, pulling them apart. It felt strangely good, like a muscle that didn’t really get stretched, and he wasn’t playing with her hole at all. His fingers occasionally brushed over it, but he never paused there, and she wondered if she was so sensitive to it just because she knew what he was going to do. But instead he poured more oil in her crease and just kept working it in every inch of her ass cheeks, tugging and pulling and rubbing. 

“That feel nice?” Tony asked.

Of course it felt nice, but Pepper hesitated.

“Want me to stop?” Tony said.

“No,” she said.

“Good,” he said, and didn’t say anything else. He seemed uncharacteristically quiet, so quiet that she wondered suddenly what the expression on his face must be—whether he looked like he did when he worked on his machines again. He was very quiet when he was working—and probably just as greasy; he just didn’t normally wear a tuxedo, and the thought that he wanted to work her ass just like he wanted to work an engine made her stomach flip.

At last his fingers began to trace her hole, but it was just as slow and gradual as he’d taken the time on her ass. He traced it. He pressed in on it. He pushed his finger against it and pulled her glut muscles apart to expose it, and when he pushed his finger further it was drenched in oil and only inside of her a centimeter when he pulled it back out.

He did that again, and then he kept doing it, his finger pushing a little farther each time, so oily and slow that she kept waiting for the burn and could never feel it. His hands kept pressing in on her gluts, still rubbing, and Pepper found herself pushing back a little for his touch, waiting for more. It was the anticipation that was killing her—she didn’t feel the need to be filled, but the knowledge of what he was going to do made her wish it would just happen. She could feel herself getting wet for it, just as if he was going to put it somewhere else.

At last when one finger had been two knuckles deep inside of her and was slipping back out again, she looked over her shoulder. “I’m not made of glass, you know.” 

She didn’t have a good angle to see all of Tony’s face or gauge his expression. His voice was just quiet when he said again, “Do you want me to stop?”

“No,” she said. “You can keep going.” She pushed back a little more. “But I’m not going to break.”

Then he took his hands off her completely, not touching her for long enough that she at last turned over on her side, and looked at him.

“I want to do something,” he said. He was on his knees, sitting on his heels on the bed. She couldn’t read his expression. 

“Okay.”

“You don’t know what I want to do.”

Pepper raised her brows. “I have a pretty good idea.” He had oil and a vibrator and her ass stretched and ready to take it; it seemed fairly obvious.

“I don’t think you do.”

Pepper thought of her spreadsheet, and _you have no idea, the things I want_. “Okay,” she said slowly. “What do you want?”

“I don’t actually want to tell you.”

“Why not?”

Tony moved so that he was sitting on the edge of the bed beside her. He put an oily hand on her hip. “You can say no.”

“What is it, Tony?”

His hand started rubbing again. “Yes or no. Just tell me.”

Pepper watched him for a little while. He was watching his own hand on her skin. “Okay,” she said finally.

“Okay?”

“Yes,” said Pepper.

He just kept rubbing her hip. “You should never say okay to something when you don’t know what it is,” Tony said. 

“I live dangerously.”

He rubbed her hip some more; then his hand slid off, wrapping around her wrist. He tugged. “Come on,” he said, and stood up. 

He must have seen that she looked surprised, because he explained, “We have to go to the bathroom for this one.”

“Okay,” she said slowly, and followed him.

His bathroom was enormous and mostly white; he had a walk-in shower and a hot tubs and two walk-in closets the size of rooms. Sometimes she could forget just how incredibly vain he was.

“Stay right there,” he said, and let go of her hand. Then he looked at her, and it was as though he hadn’t looked at her all night. His eyes went softer and he reached out, cupping one of her breasts. His thumb brushed over a nipple, and then he said, “Be right back,” and disappeared into a closet.

It was the closet with the sex toys.

Frowning, Pepper looked around, trying to decide what he might do. When she caught herself looking around in the mirror, she stopped. Her face when she was afraid looked much more dramatic. Now she mostly looked confused—better than scared, but she didn’t like confusion either. 

When Tony came back into the bathroom, he had something metal in his hands. Instead of coming to her, he went directly to the shower, and started doing something with the showerhead.

She’d let boyfriends do what they wanted to her before. Although there had been several missteps, she mostly dated good guys. She trusted them, so giving them free rein in the bedroom was acceptable. Just as often, she was the one in control. The problem was she wasn’t sure if she should be in control now. She liked to at least have a strong handle on the situation when she was with Tony, even if she let him do what he wanted.

She didn’t have a handle on this situation.

Then Tony came out of the shower, still in his tuxedo, and took her hand. “You can say no,” he said.

She thought about it and the showerhead and the metal, and then knew what Tony wanted to do, and her first thought was _why_? She’d given herself a willingness of five on her spreadsheet. She’d given Tony a likelihood of four.

“Okay,” Pepper said, and walked over to the shower.

Tony followed her in, then picked up the flexible hose the showerhead had been attached to. It now had what looked like a little nozzle, which he covered with his hand. “You ever done this?”

“No.”

“No boyfriends or—girlfriends? Medical treatment?”

“No.”

“Oh.” He looked down at the nozzle, then touched the tip to her sternum. He’d been warming it with his hand, but it was still cool against her skin. He widely circled a breast with it, tracing the nozzle down to her navel. “I could just put it in your pussy. That’s always fun.”

Pepper raised her brows. “Putting it in my ass wouldn’t be fun?”

“Don’t you want to get to know it first? Say hi.”

Her eyebrows went up farther. “You want me to say hi to your shower attachment?”

“Well, it would be nice. Just to make a general acquaintance. I made it, you know.” He traced the nozzle around until it was touching her lower back. “I didn’t like other attachments. This one’s really gentle. You think I should start a business?”

“Maybe I should try it before offering sales advice.”

“Hm.” Then he kissed her, and the nozzle was pressing down her crack, between her buttocks. 

“Oh,” she said, because it was still a little cold.

Something flickered in his eyes, but he didn’t move the nozzle. “This isn’t the cleanest way to do this. If you need to let go right away, it’s okay. Just let go. We can wash up.”

She kissed his jaw, just above the facial hair. “Maybe you should just do it, instead of worrying about it.”

“I’m not worried,” he said, and kissed her back.

Then the nozzle was pressing inside her, between her ass cheeks, just a little bit at a time. It was a slender thing, not very long, and she was a little worried about it because the pressure—but of course Tony had a very high tech shower and could control the flow.

“Alright?” Tony said.

Her hole had been stretched and greased enough that the nozzle was not uncomfortable, so she said, “Just do it, Tony.”

“I like it when you tell me what to do,” he said, and kissed her again. 

Then he turned on the water, and the problem with this was that it was just kind of gross.

The nozzle didn’t feel bad because of what he’d done to her ass, and the water didn’t feel bad. The sudden pressure and need to release was vaguely uncomfortable, but she’d felt it before. Everyone had felt _that_ before, the sudden need to urinate immediately, but it wasn’t sexy. 

She wondered whether Tony found this sexy, because he just kept kissing her, holding that nozzle. He kissed her more deeply as the water filled her, and for the first time that night she was aware of him getting hard; he was standing close and she could feel the press of it through tuxedo slacks. Then she couldn’t notice anything, because it started to get unbearable—the pressure building up inside her, the need for release, the feeling that she had to go _right now_ —it was less than a minute later. He stopped the water, then stopped kissing her.

“That’s all,” he said.

Pepper didn’t think she could talk, and the only thing she wanted right now was not to embarrass herself on Tony’s shower floor.

“I’m going to take it out now,” Tony said.

Pepper nodded, and he took it out. “Leave,” she heard herself say.

“What?”

“Just leave.”

There was a hesitation, and she couldn’t look at him. Then softly he said, “Okay,” dropped the hose, stepped away from her, and left.

Pepper looked at the toilet. It seemed too far away, but she had to hobble her way over, so she did, and then it was okay. It was really okay, and disgusting, but it was okay, and she hadn’t made a mess.

After a minute, Tony came back in the bathroom. “I brought towels,” he said, and tossed them on the floor.

She was sitting on the toilet, looking up at him, and it was pretty much one of the most embarrassing things she’d ever done. She couldn’t even get off the toilet yet, because it was kind of still happening. The closest she’d ever gotten to this was vomiting after dates after having too much booze, and she hadn’t done that in a long long time. And now that she thought of those particular incidents, she had to put another thing on her spreadsheet, which she really didn’t want to. She didn’t even want to think about that one, actually.

“I wanna stay,” Tony said.

She looked up at him incredulously, because she was sitting on the toilet for God’s sake, but she didn’t say anything.

_You have no idea, the kinds of things I’m into._

He was frowning a little—his general frown, not his particularly unhappy frown, but just the one he wore a lot of the time because he was concentrating or bored or wasn’t aware that there were people looking. She sort of loved that little frown.

“Stay,” she said.

Then he knelt on the floor beside her and kissed her, and it was awful, because she was on the toilet, but she knew he wanted to and actually, it wasn’t that bad. He swept her hair around to one side and kissed her some more, his other hand touching her neck. Then the hand in front slid down, and down, until it was on her abdomen, and pressed.

She knew what he wanted to do, then, though she thought there really wasn’t all that much to expel anymore. There just hadn’t been that much water to begin with. She thought that this was disgusting also, but he was looking at her, pressing in on her abdomen, and there was something blank in his eyes.

He could be waiting. He was waiting for her to say no, to say that this was wrong or bad or that he was gross. He was waiting for her to tell him to stop, so Pepper put her hand over his on her abdomen and pushed. 

His mouth quirked, and he leaned to talk in her ear. “I like you, Miss Potts. I really like you.”

“I think I’m done,” Pepper said.

“That’s okay. I still like you.”

Pepper reached for the toilet paper. “Don’t worry about it,” he said, but of course she worried about it, so she wiped herself while he did things in the bathroom—got a washcloth, turned the water on. Then she stood, only feeling a little wobbly, and started walking toward the bedroom. At the door, she turned back to find him watching her. “Are you coming?” she asked.

He was getting the washcloth wet. “Still thinking about it,” he said, and turned to look at the sink.

Raising her brows, Pepper went back into the bedroom. She still had a pretty good idea of what he wanted to do, even if he was taking a lot longer to do it than she would have ever imagined. Lying down on the bed on her stomach, she waited. Her body was still greasy from the oil, and she still felt loose. Her ass and abdomen didn’t hurt or anything; in fact, the feeling of emptiness was rather nice. Actually, she kind of wanted to go to sleep.

Then Tony was there, touching her, and something wet and soft was touching her ass, between her cheeks. He was cleaning her, she realized—with the washcloth, wiping her down. That was fairly gross too, if she really thought about it, but okay, at least he was hygienic, and tonight was already weird enough. Even when he poked the washcloth against her hole and twisted it around—it felt scratchy and rough—she didn’t really mind.

Then he stopped and moved away—presumably to put the washcloth back in the bathroom or the laundry, and this wasn’t really what she had expected from Tony. She’d made the spreadsheet to cover all contingencies—she’d thought—but she hadn’t expected Tony to be gentle and methodic. To be honest with herself, the main thing she had expected was that he was into BDSM, which was in some ways more normal and easy to understand than this. She’d never really had a boyfriend into BDSM hardcore, but the thing about it was that it seemed to follow at least some sort of guidelines—you knew what the other person wanted, anyway. 

She thought she knew what Tony wanted now, tonight, but there was no telling what he might want tomorrow or—

And then he was touching her again, and she realized maybe she wasn’t so sure she knew what he wanted at all, because his beard was brushing along her ass again, and his lips were skating along her crack, and then his lips were against her hole. Then his tongue was pushing up against it, and pushing in. “Oh,” she said, because she was surprised.

“’Oh’ is right,” Tony said, and pushed his tongue in again.

Rimming was ‘no data’ on her spreadsheet, because no one had ever done this before. It was a six for willingness; mostly it was that low because she’d thought she would find it kind of gross, and she had no idea whether he would want to—but he wanted to. He obviously wanted to, and from the sounds he was making, she was beginning to think he _really_ wanted to, because his face was pressed up against her ass now, and his tongue was thrusting inside of her.

And definitely, it was gross, considering what they had just done in the bathroom, but oh God, he was still pulling her glut muscles apart, pushing his teeth in as close as he could get, and then trying to take his tongue even deeper; she could feel his facial hair chafing. Maybe it was gross and maybe it was dirty after all, but it also felt so good—sort of freeing, actually, like she wanted to open up for him—and she could, because he’d cleaned her out, there was nothing there, so she could push and push without the worry or discomfort of thinking that something uncouth might happen, and he sort of made a moaning sound as he licked her—he licked her and licked her and licked her, and she wanted his tongue again.

Then his finger was there, coated in oil again, and she was aware enough to hope that he was at least using an edible oil—maybe it was olive—actually it sort of smelled like olive—and then his finger was working its way inside of her, just as slowly and gently as before. He kept licking around the ring, working his finger deeper, and she was looser now—looser because of before, because of the enema, because of his tongue, and suddenly she realized she wanted this.

She actually wanted it—the way she wanted him inside of her pussy; she wanted him inside of her ass, and she’d never _actively_ wanted it, though she had accepted it before. It was the way that she could relax around him, then pull his fingers in; it was the way her body automatically wanted to squeeze him out. It was the flex and pull of her ass, because when she tightened her muscles there, her pussy tightened too, and every time—every time—his fingers were in there, she could feel it in her cunt, her sex getting wetter and wetter and readier and readier. She pushed up on his finger, and it moved a little deeper.

“That’s it,” he murmured, and he was talking against her ass. “Take it.”

So she took it, and wanting to take a little more, she pushed up again. She just felt so—so slick, so open and wanton and ready—

Twisting his finger, he pulled it out, replaced it with his tongue. It was wet and flexible and good—soft, softer than his finger, but it was no longer enough, and she found she actually wanted something hard in her—in _there_ , which was strange, so strange, and he—

He stopped, and she made a rather unladylike noise. “Just,” was all he said, then pulled up on her hips. He pulled and then snaked a hand out to push on her thighs; then he slid a pillow under her, and she didn’t want to be propped up like that. She took the pillow out, got on her knees and forearms. 

“Well, okay,” said Tony. “If you really want.”

“Just do it,” Pepper said.

“Okay,” Tony said again, and put his tongue in her ass again.

Oh, God. He was kind of a bastard, but it was nice from this angle—better, so she arched her back, pressing against his face.

Then he took his tongue away, slid his finger in again—it was harder this time, like a thrust, and Pepper couldn’t tell whether it burned or not. It should really burn, but it felt so good, exactly what she wanted, the stretch of it, the way her body was trying to push it out and out and out, but it was solid and she wanted more. She wanted more of it deeper inside and thicker, so she bucked back against his hand. “Tony,” she said.

“Hm?” he said, in an absent kind of way. He waited, and she bucked again. “Oh, you want another finger?”

“Stop teasing me.”

“I know you think it hurts, so I’m going really slow.”

“Please,” said Pepper, and really, really hated it when she said that. She didn’t like saying that.

“Okay, one more,” Tony said, conciliatory. “But only because you asked nicely.” 

He took both fingers out again, replaced them with his tongue, and she moaned, because it wasn’t at all what she wanted. Then he just kept working her with his tongue—poking inside of her, licking against her, twisting his tongue muscle and—and using his lips, using his lips between the cheeks of her ass; he was making _out_ with her—

Pulling away, she turned around, and yanked his hair. 

“What?” he said innocently.

“Stop it,” she said, and tried to kiss him.

He turned his face away. “Don’t. It tastes like—”

“I don’t care,” Pepper said, and kissed him. He did taste like ass, and she really _didn’t_ care, so she swept her tongue over his lips, pushed between them to press against his teeth until he opened his mouth. As her tongue pushed inside of his mouth, she maneuvered him so that he was against the headboard so she climb onto him, straddling him.

“That’s awfully aggressive,” Tony remarked, pulling away. She tried to take his coat off again, and his hands stopped her, hard. 

“Why are you still dressed?” she asked.

“I want to,” he said, and kissed her. His hands drifted down her back, then settled against her ass.

“Do it,” Pepper said.

“Do what?”

“Put your fingers in.”

“Your pussy?”

“ _Tony_.”

His fingers just kept skating along her crack. “You do realize you’re dripping, don’t you, Pepper? You’re oiled up everywhere; your cunt is seeping . . . liquids—” he rolled the word around his tongue—“on my tux. The only part of you that’s squeaky clean is your little asshole, and now you want me to put things in it just like a cunt. Do you realize what you look like?”

“I don’t care,” said Pepper. “Put them in.”

“Like this?” Tony said, and thrust two fingers inside her ass, not quite gently, and it was good, so good and perfect. She was stretched out so much and ready, waiting for it, knowing just how to relax around it until they were well inside and she could tighten, pushing against them. “You really do make the best sounds,” Tony murmured in her ear.

“Tony.”

“What?”

Pepper pushed down on his fingers, but it still wasn’t enough. She knew he was going to put the vibrator in her ass. She _knew_ it—or his cock, but he was going to tease her first. He was going to tease her within an inch of her life.

“I wasn’t actually done rimming you,” Tony said, in a conversational way. “You know how you said I could eat you out for hours? I can. Either way. Ass or front. You just put it in front of me, and I’ll go to town.” Twisting his fingers, he pulled them out lazily, then shoved them back inside of her. “It’s true of anything. Lobster. Crème brûlée . Ass. Christ, I love ass.” His fingers twisted again. “Didn’t you like it? My tongue up your rump?”

“Tony,” Pepper said.

“You prefer the word derrière? I get it,” Tony went on. “You’re impatient. You just want to skip to all the good parts. I know how it is. For me, licking your ass is a good part. It’s a really good part. I like to get all the way up in there. I like my face pressed right up against your ass, my tongue just pushing and pushing against those tight, pink little muscles; they don’t want to let me inside, and you’re all clean and tight around there.” He thrust his fingers again. “Does this feel good?”

“Yes. Yes, Tony, just . . .”

“Just what?”

“More,” said Pepper. Reaching around, she grabbed his wrist, trying to guide his fingers inside of her. “More, stop teasing.”

“I’m not teasing.” Leaning up, he kissed her jaw. “I’m entirely serious. You look like such a slut right now.”

“ _Tony_.”

“I’m serious. Debauched. Wanton. Desperately horny. What do you want? Another finger up your ass?”

“ _Yes_.”

“Okay, but this is the last one. Don’t be greedy, Pep.”

He took all the fingers away, fumbled on the bed for the bottle of oil, then brought them back to her hole. She could feel them tap against the muscle—one, two, three, Tony touching them to her one at a time so that she could feel them all, each of them, and then they were pushing inside of her, and she heard herself groan.

“Is that good?” Tony asked. “That what you wanted?”

Throwing her head back, Pepper pushed down. It wasn’t what she wanted; it wasn’t enough, but the pressure was good and tight, and if he touched her cunt right now she might just orgasm instantly.

“That was it,” said Tony. He kissed her exposed throat, and whispered, “That was what you wanted.”

“Tony,” she said, and her hands clamped onto his shoulders. She was pretty good at riding cock, but the angles were all different for this. Still, she thought she could ride his hand—at least it would force him to move it. She needed to feel his fingers inside of her thrusting, and if she could get contact between her pussy and the front of his pants—surely he was hard. He had to be hard; she didn’t even know what he was doing, doing all this stuff to her while _wearing a tuxedo_ ; he just wasn’t—

“Did you want something?” Tony asked politely.

Pepper looked around for the vibrator. If he wasn’t going to do it, she could do it her—

“If you want it,” Tony said, “I’ll do it. I’ll do it, but—I have to confess. This is a really awkward angle.”

She found the vibrator. Her fingers closed around it, and he gently took it out of her hand. 

“Wouldn’t you rather be on your knees?” Tony asked. He leaned in, lips by her ear, hair scratching her cheek. His voice dropped to a low murmur. “Doggy-style, Pepper. Don’t you want it?”

He didn’t wait for an answer, but when he started pulling her up, she complied. She got on her knees as he pulled his fingers out, leaned down and put her head on her forearms. She never trusted her arms, in situations like these, and he was very carefully laying the vibrator beside him, positioning himself behind her. She still didn’t know what, exactly, he meant to do.

Then he gripped her hips, _leaned_ , bent—and proceeded to lick her ass again.

“ _Tony_!” She was annoyed, infuriated, impossibly turned on; he held her hips tight and thrust his tongue in, eagerly licking; then he thrust a finger in beside it. 

He took his finger out, and then his tongue too, and she was pretty sure that she was swearing at him, but he just—put something against her ass and maybe it was the vibrator; maybe it was finally the vibrator—but it wasn’t, it was the bottle of oil, and he was pouring the oil _into_ her, directly into her ass, and then he took it away and three fingers pushed in, all three, and she was sure she felt a burn that time except she wanted it; she wanted it so bad; she wanted—his mouth was pushed into the crease of her buttocks above her fingers, and there wasn’t anything there, just the curve of her muscle and the sweat of her body, and he was licking eagerly, tongue pushing between her gluts just because he could, just because his fingers were inside of her ass, twisting and thrusting and she, she—

“What do you think about ass-fucking now, Pepper?” Tony asked softly, finally lifting his head from her crack.

Pepper knew she was making incoherent sounds, stupid nonsensical sounds.

“Do you think you’ll like it?” He twisted his fingers again, leaning over her. He lined his chest up along her back, until his lips were at her ear again. “What do you think now of a nice big dick shoved up your ass? Do you think that sounds good?”

She didn’t know if she answered. She was trying to answer.

“You think it’ll hurt?”

“Just do it.” She heard herself whimper. She hated whimpering.

“Do what?” Tony’s voice was still soft as he pushed his fingers deeper and seemingly deeper. “Want me to stretch you and stretch you—” he stretched his words as he stretched her rim; he had lied, because he was working another finger in—“and stretch you? Want me to fuck your ass hard? Harder than you’ve ever been fucked? Pepper.” His lips were so close they were touching her ear. “I think I could put my whole hand in here. What do you think?”

Pepper groaned, the sound ripped from her, because she still thought it sounded awful and horrifically painful and she didn’t care and she wanted it in that one, single, unbalanced moment; she wanted it so bad.

“It could take me _hours_ ,” Tony said, and twisted his fingers. “But you don’t want that, do you. You just want a cock—right up your ass. Don’t you?”

“I’m going to kill you,” Pepper managed to say.

“Or how about this nice vibrator. You want this? Now you’re all ready?”

“You’re going to die slow.”

“The way you sweet talk me, baby,” he whispered, then pulled her knees out from under her.

She made an undignified sound and in her mind, she scrambled, but in reality he reached out smoothly and capably and had her laid out beside him the way he wanted in a matter of moments. He’d maneuvered them to their sides, spooned, and all she wanted was to feel his cock behind her so that she knew she could have it, have it inside of her ass, and then she actually said it, just like that. “Fuck me,” she said, and it was really more of a whine. “Fuck me in the ass.”

“Are you sure?”

“Yes.” She rubbed her ass against him, and didn’t care that it was shameless. “Fuck me in the ass; just fuck me.”

“Thanks for asking,” said Tony. “You have no idea how much it means.”

Then he was quiet, simply holding her there, and she was waiting—she was waiting and waiting until she pushed her ass back again, starting to turn so she could just—

He held her down, down on her side, and then he had the vibrator. He was going to fuck her, she thought; he was going to fuck her with it, fuck her ass with it—and he was sliding it between her legs, the angle all wrong—inside of _pussy_ , right up inside of her.

“Why,” Pepper began to say, feeling betrayed.

Then he turned it on, and she lost her mind.

She was actually thrashing, and he was saying things—inane things that were almost some kind of garbled explanation—

“I just love ass and pussy both so much; I couldn’t decide; so you figure, why not have both, and . . . are you gonna stop any time soon? You don’t have to. I just—you sent me that picture; I wanted to get it wet—soaking wet—did you know you’re absolutely, positively, sopping with it—”

“Oh God,” she shouted, arching; it was moving inside of her, oh _God_ , “Oh God, oh God, oh God—” 

“I mean, you’re pretty much . . . submerged,” Tony went on. “Steeped. Swamped. That cunt is—not coming up for air any time soon, and anyway, my point was, I did it without touching it a single time.”

“Oh God.” Pepper’s hips were going crazy; she was going crazy; she didn’t even know where to go; she didn’t know what she was doing—“Oh— _oh—_ oh oh oh _God—_ ” 

“Bet you didn’t even notice; I didn’t touch it, and here we are, the front of my pants are—well, how else do you say this—drenched with your . . . secretions, and Pepper?” He turned the vibrator off. “Are you done? Are you going to stop? Because if you want to writhe around like a bitch in heat just a little more, I wouldn’t complain.”

Pepper was slowing down. She was finally slowing down.

“Pepper, did you come? Was that coming?”

“Mmph,” Pepper said.

“Undecided,” Tony said. “Maybe I should check. Want me to check?” 

“Mmph,” Pepper said again.

“I’ll just put my fingers down here and—whoops.”

Pepper screamed.

“I turned it higher,” Tony said, not sounding at all contrite. “Complete accident. Totally didn’t mean to do that.”

Pepper screamed again, reaching for the vibrator; she needed to take it _out_ turn it _off_ because it was too much and—

“Come on,” Tony said, holding it inside of her. “Just a little longer?”

“ _No_.”

“Okay. Okay,” Tony said. “Look. Feel that? I turned it off. It’s off now.”

She clawed at his hand. “ _Out_.”

“Are you sure you want to—”

She clawed at his hand some more. “ _Yes_.”

“Okay.” Tony started pulling it out, easing it until it was almost all the way. “If you insist. I just—oops.”

Pepper’s throat was raw, and she convulsed, and it hurt now; it just hurt.

“I honestly don’t understand how that happened,” Tony said, in a completely innocent voice. “I was just taking it out and it just—just slid out of my grip completely. All the way back inside you. And somehow it turned on; I didn’t—”

Pepper was crying now, and she hated crying; she especially hated crying in front of Tony, and she’d only done it once before—no. Twice. Three times. Okay, five, but who was counting, and four of those five times were after—

“Jesus, Pepper.” Tony turned off the vibrator, and took it out—not very gently, but at least it was out, and then his hand was on hers and he put them both between her legs—not touching any of the sensitive parts, just holding her hand there, between her legs, as though to cover it all up, keep it safe. “Calm down,” he whispered, and kissed her neck. “Calm down. It’s over; calm down. Pepper. Pepper. _Pepper_.” He kissed her neck some more. “Jesus.”

“I’m—” Pepper finally caught her breath on the end of a shallow sob—“calm.” She put her other hand over his, between her legs.

He stopped kissing her, and waited. “What do you want?” he said, after a half a minute. “You want me to go? I can go.”

“No,” she said, and held his hand tighter between her legs.

“You sure? I can get you a glass of water. Want a glass of water?”

“No,” she said again, and dug her nails in.

He lay very still. After another thirty seconds, he said, “I will seriously do anything you want right now. Anything. Name it.” Fifteen seconds. “This may be your only chance.”

“Don’t move,” said Pepper.

Ten seconds. “But I—”

“And shut up.”

He shut up. Pepper was fairly certain that it was harder than pretty much anything else she could have requested. Closing her eyes, she gave herself four minutes—six minutes; she was drifting off to sleep. Blinking, she made herself open her eyes. She didn’t want to go to sleep.

Sighing, she opened her legs a little and pulled out their hands. Finally, she turned around.

Tony was lying there in his tux. She’d felt it, but actually forgotten he was still wearing it. Even if it was in disarray, it wasn’t right. His bowtie was untied from earlier, but it was still slung around his neck; his shirt had gotten pulled out a little. One of his cuffs was unbuttoned, the cufflink gone, but the other was still neatly attached. She couldn’t see the mess he’d said she’d made on the front of his pants; it was too dark. She couldn’t see the front of his pants well enough at all.

“Did you . . . ?” She reached for him.

“Ah,” he said, catching her wrist.

Frowning, she looked up at him. “Did you?”

“Did I what?” He laced her fingers between his.

Pepper glanced down at his pants again, then back up. “Come,” she said succinctly. “Did you come?”

He stared at her, his fingers going tight between her own. “You’re really asking me that now?”

Her frown deepened. “Why wouldn’t I—” Trying to extricate her hand, she tugged.

“Because maybe you’re so fucked out,” he said, hand going tighter, “maybe you’re just so fucked out, you can’t even think about me. Just for ten minutes. Maybe you can’t even care whether I had a—” His hand tightened again as she tugged harder—“whether I came in my goddamn pants or not.”

Pepper didn’t understand. “I’m not fucked out.”

“Oh? Because I was thinking, if you’re still all wet down there, I’d really like to suck—”

“ _No_ ,” Pepper said firmly. “No. I just meant . . . I’m not too—are you embarrassed?”

“I didn’t come in my pants, Pepper.”

Her brow furrowed. “Then are you . . .”

“I would tell you if I came in my pants. I’ll tell you anywhere I’ve come, if I thought you’d want to know. I’ve come in shoes. Women’s panties. Once, I came in a—I don’t think you want to know that one.”

Pepper ignored all of this, because shoes and panties and even whatever-else-that-was-too-bad-to-tell-her wasn’t the issue right now. The issue right now was, “Why don’t you want me to touch you?” The glow wasn’t visible through the pleated front of his tuxedo shirt and the undershirt underneath. She put her hand on it anyway, spreading out her fingers to feel the hard, slightly convex plate that covered the reactor. 

He caught her wrist again. “Aren’t you sleepy?”

She was sleepy. She was incredibly sleepy, but she didn’t care. “Why don’t I get to make you come?”

“Maybe I just don’t want you to.” His hand slid up over hers, pressed hers down over the plate. 

“Why wouldn’t you w—”

“Do you know what I would do,” his fingers slid and pushed until the tips were resting against the webs between her own, “if I knew why I want to come when I do? This has nothing to do with you.”

“Maybe it does.”

“Maybe it doesn’t, except for real. It really doesn’t.”

Pepper frowned down at his chest again, then forced her eyes back up. “You kept jamming it in me when I told you not to.”

“Sorry. I thought you liked it.” His voice held absolutely no remorse.

“I did like it.”

He held her hand and looked at her. “Okay. There a problem?”

“It hurt, at the end. I just wanted it out. I really, really wanted it out, but you kept going.”

“And?”

She held his gaze, steady. “Maybe I just need to jam it in you.”

His eyes didn’t flicker. “No.” Tugging her hand, he kissed her knuckles. “Not right now.”

“Are you sure? Are you sure you don’t want me to take it and—”

“I’m sure.”

“I bet it would still be wet from my cunt.”

His eyes did flicker, then, but she didn’t know if it was the thought of getting fucked, the thought of the vibrator being wet, or just simply the fact that she was talking about her cunt. He really seemed to like it when she did that, after all; it was impossible to tell what he actually wanted.

“Do you know what I want?” Tony said, as though reading her thoughts.

“What?”

“I wanna spoon. I wanna hold you until you go to sleep.”

“But—”

“It’s actually what I really want. It’s actually—it just moved up to fantasy three point seven.”

“Three point seven.”

“But we don’t have to do it,” Tony went on. “If this particular kink makes you uncomfortable.”

Her eyes searched his face. “Kink,” was all she said.

“No, really. I can see how it’s a highly unusual thing to want. Really . . . out there. We could start slowly. I could just—”

Pepper turned around, bringing his arm with him as she lined up her backside with his front. “Tony?” she said.

“Yes, my squeamish one?”

“Shut up.”

He shut up. They spooned. She went to sleep.

*

The first boyfriend that Pepper broke up with because of Tony Stark was named Todd. He was not the last.

He told her she was too obsessed with her job, which was probably true. The problem was that after about eight months, Todd got boring. Seventeen months of being Stark’s assistant, and Pepper still wasn’t bored. Annoyed, yes. Frustrated, angry, disappointed, flummoxed, exasperated, and on the verge of quitting, yes. But not bored.

“What’s this?” Todd had asked.

He had been looking at her laptop while she was pouring wine. “What?” she’d said, poking her head out of the kitchen. She froze, glass in hand. “Why are you looking at my computer?”

“It was up,” said Todd. “I was just looking.”

“That’s private.”

“I thought it was for work?”

“It is,” said Pepper. “It’s personal.”

“Professional.”

“What?”

Todd was just sitting there at her laptop, not moving away. “You mean professional,” he said. “You said it was work.”

“It is,” said Pepper. Setting down her glass, she walked over, closing her laptop in front of him. “That doesn’t mean you can look at it.”

“I wasn’t aware your work for Stark Industries was of a covert nature.”

“It’s not,” said Pepper. “It’s mine.”

“It didn’t look like yours,” said Todd.

“Move,” Pepper said, looking down at him. Todd moved, and Pepper sat down at the desk. Opening her laptop, she glanced at the spreadsheet he’d seen.

It was a list of men and women—mostly women. It had their races, heights, hair and eye colors, measurements—when she could get them, contact info—email, phone number, home address, fax—and notes. The notes were things like:

> Jessica – married, do not return calls
> 
> Cynthia – pregnancy scare, restraining order c. 1999
> 
> Hamel – no condoms, needs testing

“It’s for work,” Pepper said, closing it again.

Todd frowned at her. “What are all those names? Who are those people?”

“I don’t have to answer that.”

“No,” Todd said, looking thoughtful. “But you could.”

Pepper glanced at her laptop, then back at him. “They’re contacts.”

“So . . . you need to know your contacts’ bust sizes?”

“Not my contacts.” Pepper crossed her arms over her chest. “They’re Mister Stark’s.”

Todd’s brow went up. “You keep a spreadsheet of Tony Stark’s contacts’ bust sizes?”

“It’s just information,” said Pepper. “It could be useful.”

“Don’t you think it’s a little . . . personal?”

“I told you it was personal.” Her shoulders slumped. “Todd, I have to do this. It’s my job. I catalogue information; I collect data. I remember anything that might be useful—and yes, that includes the bust size of all his former . . . liaisons, because who knows, one day I might be stuck buying one of them underwear.”

“You shouldn’t have to buy Stark’s girlfriends underwear.”

Uncrossing her arms, Pepper just shrugged. “It could be important.” 

“What other data do you collect?”

“Share prices, major gifts, charity funds, investments, allergies, shoe sizes, his designer hand kerchiefs, magazines, super models, stocks and liabilities of all the Fortune 500, how much rotary phones are going for on E-Bay, security systems, every restaurant he’s ever been to and whether he liked them and who was there and how much they cost; I don’t know, Todd, the Christmas presents he got for everyone last year.”

“Rotary phones.”

Pepper shrugged again. “I don’t know. He thinks they’re funny.”

Todd looked away. “They’re sort of funny. Hand kerchiefs?”

“Is this going to be a problem?”

“Does he ask you to do all this?”

“No. Do I need to repeat myself?”

“How much do you know about me?”

Pepper kept her eyes steady on him. “I know what kind of golf clubs you use.”

“And that’s all,” Todd said. His eyes flicked over to the kitchen, where she’d been pouring the wine.

“No,” said Pepper. “I know where you buy your pants and the classes you took in college and the names of your former girlfriends and your favorite foods, and what music you like, and how fast you like to go when we make love—”

“Stop.” Todd held up a hand. 

“This is who I am,” said Pepper. “This is what I do.”

“How do you know what classes I took in college?”

“Just the ones you’ve mentioned,” said Pepper. “I don’t snoop. I just . . . remember.”

“Where’s my spreadsheet?”

Pepper rolled her eyes. “You don’t have a spreadsheet.”

“Why not?”

“It’s in my head.”

“But if I were more complicated,” Todd said quietly, “if I had more former girlfriends. Would there be a spreadsheet?”

“Probably.”

Todd looked over at the wine again. “I don’t know the names of your former boyfriends,” he said, “or the classes you took in college.”

Pepper took a step closer. “I could tell you,” she said.

“I’d probably forget.” He laughed, a little weakly. “I’m not actually very complicated.”

“I’m not looking for complicated,” Pepper said.

“Why not?”

Pepper took another step forward. “I just want to get things right.”

“Well.” He laughed again. “I guess I’m an easy test.”

Pepper looked away. “I never wanted things to be difficult,” she said. Then, belatedly, “You’re not a test.”

“I do remember some of the courses you talked about taking in college,” Todd said. “Are you sure you don’t want things to be difficult?”

Pepper wasn’t sure at all.

*

Tony left her at some point during the night. Pepper, sleeping long and hard, was completely unable to say when. She woke up alone and then showered in his shower. He had removed the attachment and the showerhead was back. As she scrubbed herself down—she felt incredibly gross—she tried to decide whether she felt gross about last night, too.

She didn’t. She felt incredibly nice. She also felt completely out of her element—which was also nice, but a little unsettling. As she dried herself, she thought about her spreadsheet, about Tony’s angle, about how Tony hadn’t come—how he hadn’t come over the phone either, about how he hadn’t actually come with her or inside her since that first night. That night she’d made him.

Wrapping herself in one of his robes, she walked over to the guest room where she kept some of her spare clothes, and got dressed. Then she put up her hair, because it was wet, and went to go find Tony.

He was at his kitchen bar, drinking coffee, reading a tablet.

“You’re up early,” she told him. It wasn’t actually that unusual, but mainly because Tony’s hours were not like a normal person’s.

“Morning,” he said, glancing over. He sipped his coffee. “How’s your cunt?”

She’d learned not to choke on his behavior. It was rare, these days, that she ever appeared shocked at anything he said.

It didn’t mean that she was never shocked.

“It’s fine,” she said, and walked into the kitchen.

“I got you breakfast. On the counter.” Then he went back to reading his tablet.

“You’re really going to ask about my vagina first thing in the morning?” Pepper said finally. “Just like that?”

“Why not?” Sipping his coffee, Tony didn’t look up.

Pepper started getting herself a cup of coffee.

“You’re my girlfriend,” Tony said eventually. “Doesn’t that mean I get to be interested in it?”

“What about the rest of me?”

“Oh, right.” He took another sip of coffee. “How’s your ass?”

“How’s your cock?” Picking up her mug, she turned around.

He tapped something on the tablet. “Fantastic.”

“Really?”

“Incandescent, actually.”

“What did Fury say to you?”

“Do you like salsa?” Tony frowned down at his tablet. “I couldn’t remember whether you liked salsa.”

“What did he say, Tony?”

“I got both red and green.” Taking a sip of coffee, Tony touched something on the tablet again. “Couldn’t decide.”

Pepper went to go look in the bag on the counter. “You got me a breakfast burrito.”

“It has avocado.”

Pepper went to get a plate, fork, and napkin. “My ass is fine,” she told him, when she was unwrapping the burrito.

Tony didn’t look up. “Is it?”

“Yes. In fact, it feels quite good.”

“Hmm.” He still didn’t look up, but the corner of his mouth was tilting up.

“You cleared your schedule for today,” Pepper said, putting the burrito on the plate and looking into the bag for the salsa. 

“There was nothing important.”

Pepper raised a brow, but didn’t look at him, just opened the little cup and started pouring the salsa over the burrito. “What will you be doing?”

“Arc reactor,” Tony said. “Found some cheaper materials. Ways to synthesize vibranium. And if you’re going to wire a whole building for it—I need to talk to the architect as soon as we get one.”

“I forwarded you some of the interesting portfolios.”

“I like this one.” Tony held out the tablet.

She glanced at it, cutting a bite of burrito with her fork. “L’Avery,” she said. “I liked that one too.”

“Meeting?”

“I’ll schedule it.” She ate her burrito, and he went back to messing with the tablet, scrolling through various things and tapping it, moving things around. After a minute, she took out her own phone, checked her email while she ate. “I have to go in today,” she said.

“I know.”

“You got me breakfast.”

“Strangely, I know that too.”

Pepper ate the last bites. Putting down her phone, she put the plate and fork in the machine, then threw the trash away. She composed a quick email and sent it, then went over to Tony.

“You smell good,” he said, without turning toward her.

She put her hand in his hair—gently, fingers sliding up from nape to scalp. Leaning in, she kissed his temple, whispered, “My cunt feels amazing.”

As she straightened, he caught her hand, turning around. “Does it?”

“I have to go,” Pepper said, pulling her hand back.

He didn’t let go. “Does it feel raw?”

“Have a nice day, Tony.” 

“Can I . . .” He swallowed, grip tightening on her wrist. “Can I touch it?”

“I have to be at the office.”

“I just want to make sure it’s okay,” Tony said. “Come on. Just one little—just a little pat.”

“You want to pat my vagina?”

“More of a stroke, really. Just a little morning greeting. Just saying hi to it—” His hands were on her skirt, and she was letting him. She didn’t know why, but she was letting him. “Just want to make sure it’s—ooh.” His hand slid down her open skirt, down her panties, against her pubic bone. “Hi,” he said, his fingers nudging between her legs, cupping her vulva—just cupping it. “Hello.”

“An interesting factoid about vaginas,” Pepper said. “They don’t actually talk.”

“It talks to me.” Tony kept his hand there. “I can definitely make it talk to me. It’s talking right now.”

“It’s not talking.”

“Did you know you’re wet?”

“That’s not actually speech.”

“You came three times seven hours ago, and you’re already wet again.”

“Seven hours is more than enough for a refractory period,” Pepper said. “I have a meeting at eight.”

“Let me clean it up.” He pushed his hand up, pressure between her legs, but he didn’t do anything with his fingers, just holding her there.

“I’m beginning to think you only like me for my vagina.”

“Not true.” He took his hand out, turned away. As he moved across the kitchen, her hands moved toward her skirt. “Don’t close it up,” Tony said. “Please. I liked you for all the other things,” he said, pulling down a paper towel. “I didn’t even know your vagina, when we started going out.”

“A week ago,” she reminded him, because he made it sound like a year ago.

“It only makes sense I should get acquainted with it.” Tony took another paper towel, then came back toward her. “I need to know it, so I can like it just as much as I like the rest of you.” He folded the paper towels into a square. “Are you jealous?”

“Of my vagina?” she asked, incredulous.

“Of me and my going relationship with your cooch.” He slid the paper towels down her panties, and then started wiping off her cunt with it.

“My _cooch_?” she said, because that was a such a dumb word.

“Yeah.” Tony kept wiping—it was really as if he did just want to wipe her down, the movement thorough and somewhat methodic. “I really feel like it’s getting to know me. Like it’s warming up to me, like maybe I should—”

“That’s enough,” she said, and tugged his arm.

“All clean?”

“Yes.”

He took the paper towels out, then folded them one more time, and put them in his pocket. He looked up to find her watching him—and there was that guilty look again. His eyes slid away. “I thought you were going to work,” he said.

“I am.”

“Have a nice day,” he said, and went back to go sit on the stool at the bar and his tablet, which he touched on, and began to read.

Pepper turned and left.

*

Kitty was this ridiculous Persian fluff ball that some girl had left in Stark’s mansion. She—the girl, not Kitty—had actually been living there a week before Stark realized he hadn’t really wanted to live with her. “Five day sex marathon gone wrong,” he’d told Pepper on the phone.

Stark hadn’t had any pressing meetings and the girl didn’t seem to be distracting him from important work, so Pepper told him, “Tough luck,” and hung up.

It was another two days before Stark realized the girl had left the cat.

“There’s a cat in my house,” he told Pepper on the phone.

Pepper closed her eyes. “Don’t say it.”

“I think it might be feral,” Stark went on.

“Please tell me you are talking about an actual feline,” Pepper said.

“What else would I be talking about?” Stark had wanted to know. “It’s mewling. Have you ever skinned a cat before?”

“I can’t say that I have.”

“Wanna come do it with me?”

“Not particularly.”

“It won’t fit in the garbage compactor,” said Stark.

“Please tell me how you know this.”

“I had JARVIS measure it.”

“Don’t do anything,” said Pepper. “I’m coming over.”

When Pepper got there, the cat was nowhere to be found.

“Please tell me this was not a joke,” said Pepper.

“It wasn’t,” Stark said, voice innocent.

“Then it was a real cat? An honest to goodness cat with whiskers, four legs?”

“Come on, Potts. What other kind of cat would I be talking about?”

Pepper started walking around the mansion. “Here, kitty kitty.”

“Seriously,” Stark went on. “If I meant pussy, I really would have just said pussy. Or girl. Whichever happened in my mouth first.”

“Oh my God,” said Pepper. “Stop talking.”

“I guess pussy can’t really happen in your mouth before girl,” said Stark. He tilted his head thoughtfully. “Unless you’re blindfolded. Really, a cat. Black and white. Fuzzy tail.”

“What breed?”

“How should I know?”

“Where did it come from?”

“Um,” said Stark, “the living room?”

“What’s its name?”

“Muffins? No, Mittens. Maybe Spunky. Spunkerson.” He held up his hands. “Hey. I didn’t name it.”

“Why is it here? How long has it been here?”

“What do I look like?” Stark made a face. “Honestly, Pep, I don’t know. I think Giselle left it. Maybe two days. It looks Siamese.”

“Two days?” said Pepper, trying to hide her horror. “Is that how long it’s been since it’s eaten?”

“Maybe?” Stark hedged.

Pepper walked back to the kitchen, went over to the pantry, searched and—there it was. She liked to put canned goods in there for various emergencies. Including five-day sex marathons. Taking out the tuna, Pepper left the pantry and went to go find the can opener.

Stark took it out of her hands, slid it under a cabinet, through a mostly noiseless machine. When he handed it back, the top was neatly pried off. “I thought cats eating tuna was a myth.”

“What do you think they eat?”

Stark shrugged. “Cat food.”

Pepper put the can on the floor. “This is a new low for you, you know,” she said.

“I dunno,” said Stark. “I could go lower.”

“Don’t tell me how.”

“You really think that Spunksalot is gonna come running just because he smells tuna?”

“That’s the idea.”

Stark threw the lid of the tuna away. He washed his hands. He dried them. He waited all of another three seconds, then started tapping a hand on the counter. “You ever have a pet, Potts?”

“No.”

“Why not?”

Her eyes flicked in his direction, then decided to stay away. “I had other things to take care of.”

“Mom,” he suggested.

Pepper didn’t look up.

Stark kept tapping the counter. “Do robots count as pets?”

“No.”

“What should I do with it?”

“I’ll take care of it.”

“That sounds sinister,” said Stark. “Are you going to drown it?”

“You’re the one who was measuring the trash compactor.”

“Seriously,” said Stark. “What are you going to do with it?”

Pepper shrugged. “Probably take it to the humane society.”

“They’ll kill it.”

Finally, she looked over at him. “You’re worried about a cat. You.”

Stark managed to look offended. “I do care about some things, you know.” When she gave him a sharp look, he added, “Sometimes.”

“I said I’d take care of it,” Pepper said, looking back at the tuna. “I’ll take care of it.”

“You don’t sound so—”

“ _Oh,_ ” Pepper breathed. She put her hand over her mouth. “Oh my God.”

“There he is,” said Stark. “Hey, Sir Spunkytown.”

“It’s a kitten,” Pepper breathed.

It was. It was a little kitten, barely a foot long from nose to tail, sneaking its way into the kitchen sneakily, looking warily around itself. Then, at last, it made a move for the tuna. Once it was eating, it appeared to be preoccupied.

“Oh my God,” Pepper said again.

“What is it?” said Stark. “What’s wrong?”

“Oh my God,” Pepper said.

“Can you stop saying that?” Stark said. “It’s unnerving.”

“It’s so _small_.”

“Is it starving? Did I kill it? Will it actually fit in the trash compactor, because—

“It’s _darling_ ,” said Pepper, and squatted down to look at it closer. She didn’t get too close, because she didn’t want to scare it. It was really, really adorable.

“Darling,” Stark repeated, incredulous.

“You poor thing,” Pepper told the kitten.

“Yes,” said Stark. “I’m a poor thing. A very poor thing. I’m sorry, Miss Potts. Are you . . . cooing over a kitten?”

“I can’t believe you.” Pepper stood up, turned around.

“Oh, no.” Stark shook his head. “Arms akimbo. I know that look.”

“How _could_ you?”

“Well,” said Stark. “You give it to me a lot.”

“You almost let it starve.”

“No, I didn’t,” Stark pointed out. “I called you.”

There wasn’t any point in arguing. Instead, Pepper found a bowl, and put a little water in it. Then she put it down near the kitten—not too close, and stepped back.

“You like it,” Stark said. He sounded kind of incredulous.

“Of course I like it,” said Pepper. “It’s a _kitten_.”

“No, that’s okay.” Stark shook his head again. “I just—I thought you were a robot. That’s all.” When she glared at him, he said quickly, “Well, it’s obvious you have an array of features not yet seen on today’s market, but I—I’ve just never really seen you get gooey-eyed. That’s all.”

“I get gooey-eyed,” Pepper said stiffly. “I cry at movies. I like art.”

“I agree, your emotion chip is firmly in place.” Stark frowned down at the kitten, then looked back at her. “I know you get gooey-eyed. I didn’t mean it that way. I meant I didn’t get gooey-eyed. I don’t. Maybe I’ll keep it.”

“No,” said Pepper. “I said I’d take care of it.”

They both looked down at the kitten. It had moved onto the water. “You take care of everything,” Stark said quietly.

“That’s my job.”

“I know,” Stark said. “Who takes care of you?”

“I do,” said Pepper, and went to pick up the kitten.

*

Tony didn’t call that day or that night. It was just as well, since Pepper had arranged to have drinks with some old contacts—they weren’t really friends, but they were important connections, and if Tony had called, he would have told her to just blow it off. But he didn’t call, so Pepper had drinks; then she went home and fed her cat and answered emails, and reviewed more portfolios, and poked at some of the production figures for Stark Industries’ latest jet. 

She kept the sex spreadsheet open in the background and made some minor adjustments—merged Master/Slave back into D/s, added a row for BDSM (other), then did some reading about objectification and personification of the vagina. She didn’t know what she was looking for, exactly, but it was interesting to stumble upon Ruskin in the middle of it, whom she hadn’t read since her old college days in art history. He had coined the term “pathetic fallacy”, but she couldn’t find evidence of it in connection to kinks or sex. She did, however, learn far more about furries than she ever thought she would, which resulted in another row on her spreadsheet, and further rows for dogs, cats, and ponies.

For a while she debated whether she was _actually_ going to put bestiality on there. And the thing she’d thought of last night—with vomit. Then she thought about what he’d said about the suit and vibration, and added another row for “Toys (misc)” and fucking machines.

She just didn’t know what he wanted, basically, and she wondered what that said about her, that she was aching so desperately to know what he wanted, that she wanted so very badly to do it for him. It didn’t feel like serving him, just as being his assistant had never felt like serving him. It had only ever felt like doing what had to be done to get what she wanted. She wanted to get every question right. She wanted to win.

Tony didn’t call the next day either, so after work she picked up Chinese food, and went to his house. When she got there, JARVIS told her he was in the shop. JARVIS also told her he hadn’t slept in forty-one hours. It broke her heart a little, because that meant that the night she’d slept over, he’d only gotten two hours of sleep. 

She still didn’t know why. He’d just . . . held her until she orgasmed within an inch of her life, then held her again until she slept. Then he must have gotten up and—done whatever it was that Tony did, went and got burritos, made coffee, and sat in the kitchen, working until she woke up.

“Come look at this,” Tony said, as soon as she came down to the shop.

Pepper went and looked at it, but she didn’t know what she was seeing. It was one of his holographic images; it looked like a diagram of his arc reactor. He started explaining as she opened the box of Lo Mein, and went on as she put it in his hand. He’d designed a way to route all the energy an office building could possibly use through JARVIS and an arc reactor. As he ate, explained, and pointed things out with chopsticks, Pepper felt certain he didn’t even know that he was eating. The skin under his eyes looked bruised.

“It looks good,” she said finally, when he let her get a word in edgewise.

“See.” He waved around his chopsticks, and the image changed. “Here’s a work-up of the cost. We could do it for under six hundred million.”

“Impressive,” Pepper said, because it was. Touching the image, she scrolled through the figures.

“Cost effective,” Tony said. “That was what you wanted.”

“I picked out real estate.”

“You did?”

“Yes,” said Pepper, still looking at the write-up. “Central Manhattan. It’s perfect. Do you want to see?”

“Yeah. Just a sec.” He slid some of the files down. “Just tell it the address, and we can figure out—”

“First, I want you to tell me what Fury said to you.”

Tony stared at her.

Pepper turned to him. “You’ve been working since I last saw you.”

“So?”

“You haven’t even slept.”

Tony put the box of food down, pulled his diagrams back up.

“You haven’t showered,” Pepper added.

She watched him for a little while, Tony messing with his holograms—numbers and figures and pictures, soft green-blue light dancing around him. “Tony,” she said finally.

He touched something on the table, and the lights all turned off. “Do you ever think about Bruce Banner?” he asked, turning toward her.

Pepper tried to shift gears. “Bruce Banner. The Hulk.”

“Yeah.” Tony picked up the box of food, sat down on the holodesk, his thigh along the edge. “That guy. Sometimes I just wonder what he’s doing.”

“Why are we talking about Bruce Banner?”

“No reason.” Tony poked around the Lo Mein, then took out a huge piece of chicken. “Sometimes I think about him though,” he said, and put the chicken in his mouth.

“Why?”

Tony just shrugged, and Pepper knew that Tony thought about Bruce Banner; she just didn’t know why he was bringing it up now. When the Abomination incident had happened in Manhattan two years ago, Iron Man had been half-way around the world, dealing with an earthquake in the Philippines. By the time Tony had got to Manhattan, Banner had disappeared. Tony had met with General Ross instead, and it wasn’t because General Ross was a hero, even though he was. Tony had been interested in _Banner_. He’d wanted to work with him—it was this Avengers thing, and even though Ross had lost Banner, sometimes Tony still talked about it. He still talked about Banner sometimes too. 

It had started a long time before the Abomination thing. When the Hulk had first emerged—in Virginia, eight years ago, now—Tony hadn’t been able to shut up about it. He’d just thought Banner was sooooo cool; Pepper had been afraid he was actually going to track the guy down, and then there’d have been a crisis on their hands. That was before Iron Man, and Pepper would have thought that now that Tony was trying to be a hero, he’d have the good sense to stay away from a raging maniac like the Hulk.

But that was asking too much.

“Why do you think about Banner?” she said patiently.

“He’s interesting. I mean, first of all, however he did it—I actually don’t know enough about particle physics. Someone did something I don’t know how to do. That’s impressive in itself.”

“You don’t know how to knit,” Pepper pointed out. “Does that mean you think The Knitters’ Guild of—”

“I mean someone did something interesting I don’t know how to do,” Tony clarified. Putting down the empty box of Lo Mein, he searched in the bag she’d brought and took out the Mongolian Beef. “Plus, he managed to keep it a secret. Locked up there in that big brain of his. God, he’s something, don’t you think?”

Suddenly, Pepper knew what this was about. “Vanko was something, too,” she said quietly.

Tony called up his holographic screens again, glanced at the diagrams as he chewed on the beef. “Imagine having that power inside of you. The Hulk, I mean. Imagine it’s just there. Waiting, you don’t know how to use it or control it, and it’s a thing you created. You invented it.”

Now he was talking about Obadiah—the suit Obadiah had made, the suit Obadiah had died in, the design that had been Tony’s. Pepper wanted to cry. “You are not Bruce Banner,” she said, because it was it was horrible, so horrible, that Tony could identify with that—with that _thing_ , that poor, poor man.

She’d seen pictures of Bruce Banner on the television and in the newspaper. He looked stripped raw, as though everything had been taken from him. He looked so desperately exhausted—inhumanly exhausted, and it was scaring Pepper to think of Banner’s face, because it reminded her of the way Tony looked now. It seemed like a threat—of what Tony could be, if he let himself, if he let himself lose everything but those days in the cave, when he had been held hostage, when he had created his own sort of beast.

It wasn’t the same. It wasn’t the same at all. Tony could never be Bruce Banner, because he was Tony Stark. She didn’t want Tony to ever, ever think of himself as someone so completely without hope.

“I know I’m not Banner,” Tony said. “Banner is wasting it.”

“You don’t have to—”

Tony flipped off the screens again. “What I mean is, Banner ran off. He’s still running, from what I hear. Maybe he’s working it out, maybe he isn’t. But whatever he’s doing—he’s not using it. He’s not making the best of it. You have to make the best of it.” Tony turned blank eyes to the screens that were no longer there. “Or it’ll eat you alive.”

“Tony,” Pepper said, and took a step closer.

Tony kept looking at the screens. “What is S.H.I.E.L.D. doing in New Mexico?”

Pepper tried to orient herself to the segue. “Agent Coulson said there was a disturbance.”

“Yeah.” Tony picked up another bite of beef. “Agent Blah says there’s a redacted in an undisclosed location that could cause blank. Big surprise.”

“He’s just trying to do his job.”

“Right, well, he did a bang up job feeling out Vanko.” Swallowing the beef, Tony started rooting around for another chunk. “Weather disturbance. Did you know my dad helped start S.H.I.E.L.D.?”

“No.”

“Fury told me.” Tony tapped the images off, then kept rooting with his chopsticks. “Bill and Melinda Gates.”

“They’re not part of S.H.I.E.L.D.”

“Charities are trendy,” Tony said, poking around in his box. “Or so you said. We should start one.”

Pepper took the box of fried rice out of the bag. “You’ve started several.”

“Oh. They any good?”

“You know what they are, Tony.” She opened the box, then the chopsticks.

“The orphan one, the rehab one, the veterans one. Am I missing any?”

“The grant-making program for education,” Pepper said.

“That was Howard’s, too.” He waved his chopsticks dismissively. “Does the Youth Robotics Org count?”

“You just fund it,” Pepper said. “It doesn’t belong to you.”

“I wanna consolidate. Three branches. Youth, crime, and international.”

“Crime?” Raising her brow, she picked up a bit of egg with her chopstick.

“Maybe I mean reform. Like the rehab one,” said Tony. “Let’s look at insane asylums. And halfway houses.”

Her brow went higher.

“What?” he asked.

“You want to give people a second chance.”

He looked away, stabbing at his beef. “Anyway, international, that can include the vets—I mean, they don’t have to be international vets. Maybe I mean war. Or peace, to be more specific.”

“By international, do you mean foreign aid?”

“Pouring money into third world countries won’t help third world countries.”

“Then what do you want to do?”

“Pour money into them.” He still wasn’t looking at her. “Until I have time to do something else.” He tossed the box in the trash. “Let’s just make sure it’s good money. Well-spent. We’ll do Stark Tower, and then—I don’t know. We’ll see.”

“We’ll see about third world countries?” She was keeping her tone polite, even though he was worrying her. Banner and S.H.I.E.L.D., charities—this had to do with Vanko and Hammer. It had to do with Fury, too. As long as Pepper had known Tony, she’d known that he didn’t react in predictable ways. Of course there would be fall-out from what had happened; she had just been so so relieved that he wasn’t dying, that he’d found a solution to the palladium—and he’d been proud of that. So proud, and he’d come out on top and won the day; he’d gotten a medal. He always acted like these things didn’t hurt.

“We’ll see about everything.” Tony grabbed a fortune cookie. “We could call it the Pepper and Tony Stark Foundation.” 

“Did you just ask me to marry you?”

“No.” He glanced up. “Maybe. If you’re going to say yes.”

She stared at him, the worry turning a little bit into fear. Maybe he was actually losing his mind. “I was joking,” she said.

Looking away, he said, “Yeah. I was joking too. I mean, unless you were going to say yes.”

She still couldn’t decide whether he was joking. Putting down her box, she said, “I’m not going to say yes.”

“Okay.”

“Tony.”

“I wasn’t serious, Pepper.” He tossed the fortune cookie aside, unopened and uneaten. Turning on the screens again, he said, “Just playing around.”

Tony had always been a man who knew exactly what he wanted, except when he didn’t. Before he’d been held hostage, Pepper had often thought that he must feel aimless. She gave him direction, he’d said. She expected him to be better than he was.

Pepper’s chest felt tight, watching him slide around numbers and figures, taking apart the diagram of the reactor. “Come upstairs with me,” she said.

Tony twisted away a part of the diagram. “I’ve got this—”

She put her hand on his shoulder, leaned into his ear. “My cunt misses you,” she whispered.

His hands, for a moment, were still. Then they started moving over the diagrams again. “I’m not actually in the mood.”

Pepper felt her chest go tighter, lungs burning for just a second. His face looked haggard. This was probably the first time he’d eaten in a day. Maybe two. Swallowing, she said, “I want to suck you off.”

He glanced at her, eyes solemn and still, then turned away again. “Definitely not in the mood.”

For a moment, she hesitated. Then she thought about her spreadsheet. She hadn’t seen him come since the morning after that first night together. She hadn’t heard or felt him do it since them. For all she knew, he hadn’t since then, and her mouth was actually watering. Sliding her hand down his chest, over his jeans, she said, “It feels like you’re in the mood,” because she could feel his cock twitch under her hand, even through his jeans.

“I’m not,” he said, but he didn’t try to take her hand away.

“Are you sure?” she said, sliding her hand inside his jeans, now.

“I’m sure,” he said, and just kept working on the diagrams.

Pepper’s lungs burned a little stronger with the breaths she should be taking, and wasn’t. “What if I tell you to?” she said, voice low. “What if I tell you to sit down right now, and open your jeans, so I can suck your cock?”

His cock twitched again, but his hands didn’t falter. He just kept looking at the screens. “I would say that you are very attractive. Maybe some other time.”

Pepper swallowed. “Right now,” she said. Sliding her hand up to his chest, she pushed. Hard.

He glanced at her, as though she had finally gotten his interest. Then he made a move back toward the desk. 

Pepper put both hands on his chest, pushed again. He stumbled back and she moved forward, pushing him back and down, until he was sitting again on the stool. He looked up at her. His eyes were dark and strangely hungry, but when he spoke his tone was light. “A little demanding, aren’t you?” 

“Yes,” she said, and got on her knees.

“Maybe you shouldn’t,” he suggested. He wasn’t making any move to get up. She could see the bulge in his jeans. “You’ll wreck your pretty stockings.”

“Come here,” she said, and reached for his jeans.

When he rolled the stool back a little, she jerked him back by the thighs. Then she was working on the button, the zipper—

“Pepper.”

It sounded like a protest, but he didn’t say anything else, so she opened his pants, reached in, got his cock. It was half-hard—getting harder; she leaned in and—

“Pepper,” he said, and wrapped his hand around her ponytail.

“I want to suck you.”

“I can see that,” he said. “You’re very determined, but I don’t think you should—”

“I’m going to suck you,” she said, and his cock jumped in her hand. 

She looked down at it, and he began to say, “Maybe you should—”

“I’m going to suck you,” she said again. “Maybe you should just sit back and come.”

He swallowed, eyes seeming to go even darker. His cock was hard in her hand, but then he just kept talking. “I don’t think that’s—”

She started going down, and he yanked her back by the hair. Hard.

“Ah,” he said. “Condom. Just let me—”

Then Pepper put her head back down again, her mouth around the head of his cock. She could hear Tony’s swift intake of breath. “Okay,” he said. “Okay, if that’s the way you want to—” Another quick breath. “Alright, this is— _ah_. God damn.”

She slid her mouth down his cock, and she _liked_ cock. She sincerely liked it. She sincerely wanted to fill her mouth with it, hold his balls in her hand and squeeze slowly for him—slowly, tightly, then release as her mouth slid back up. She wanted it, and she wanted him; she wanted the way he was a spring coiled too tightly; she wanted him to unwind, loosen. She wanted him to snap, and she wanted to taste it; she wanted him to fall apart so that she could gather the pieces around her and over her, for warmth. She wanted to be what he wanted, to be what he needed; she wanted to get this right. She wanted to be right.

He tugged on her ponytail, but it was gentle, and then she realized he wasn’t tugging at all; he was pulling out her hair band. Her hair came down around her head, between his legs, curtaining his cock, her hollowing cheeks, and then his hands were in her hair. He filled his palms with it—gently, then his hands tightened into fists, but he still wasn’t pulling. Then he released, and did it again. 

He was so quiet—he was never this quiet, except half the time he was; completely silent, intent on something far outside her understanding. She wondered whether he was thinking of something else _right now_. When she looked up—lips locked around his cock, trying to gauge his expression—he was looking straight down at her, frowning slightly, dark eyes inscrutable.

He filled his hands up with her hair again—still so gently, not combing or stroking through it the way that other men had sometimes done, but not using it to force her either. He wasn’t doing anything to control her; he was just letting her, letting her letting her letting her. The last time she had given him a blow-job, he’d wrapped his hands so tightly in her hair it hurt, and then he’d fucked her face. Now, every time he sank his hands into her hair—every time they tightened into fists—he let her go again.

Maybe he was just too tired. Or maybe he wanted her to do it.

Pepper wanted to do it. 

She touched his wrists, her mouth still on his cock, and pulled his hands away from her hair. 

He took a quick, stuttered breath, hands down by his sides and his cock did _something_ in her mouth. 

Then his hands were back in her hair, more insistent than before. His eyes, if anything, got hotter, darker.

She took his hands away again. When he made a sound like a low whine, tilting his hips, she knew she was onto something. His hands stayed where they were when she let him go, so she sucked him. 

She swallowed him all the way, and held his balls. His hands started twitching as she did it. She could see it in her peripheral vision, even though she’d made it obvious where he should keep them. When he reached out, she pulled back, and he hesitated. Then, as though unable to resist, his hands sank into her hair again.

Pulling off of him again, Pepper grabbed his hands, yanked his wrists back to his lap. He made another low sound, almost guttural. Then his mouth stayed open; he started panting as she licked him, as she held his hands down, as she pressed the tip of her tongue against his slit and didn’t let him participate. His hips made tiny movements; he could have gotten his hands away if he really tried; he was trying to obey; he was trying not to fuck her face.

When she let him go again, his hands stayed where she’d put them, so she went a little farther, then farther, and farther, sucking him in again, working him down, and it was nice to be in control. It was nice to force him to take it, to force him to let her do this for him, to tell him how he could and couldn’t respond, and feel him writhe under her when she did it. She’d thought about it—she’d suspected—she’d put it on the spreadsheet—but it was difficult; it needed fine-tuning, because his hands began to twitch again. 

They twitched and twitched—she could see them twitching in his lap, little aborted movements as if he was trying, really trying, to keep them there, where they wouldn’t stay. He reached out—hesitated—and then quite deliberately, touched her hair. 

She grabbed his wrists, jerked them back. This time the sound he made wasn’t low at all but loud, a definite groan permeating the quiet air of his shop, where the only other sound was her harsh breathing and the messy sound of sucking.

“Fuck,” Tony said, arching against her, tilting down her throat. 

Her mouth pulled back on his cock, easing him out of her throat. She held down his hands in his lap, forcing his hips to stay down, then licked the head again. When he jerked, struggling, her hands tightened; she held him down.

“Fuck.” He wriggled again. “I need—I need—”

Then Pepper was sucking him, fast and hard and sure, moving up and down on his cock as she held him, as she tried not to let him move his hips, and she held his hands down, and he thrashed. “Don’t let me,” he said, and sounded like he didn’t know what he was saying, and he could have easily escaped her grasp but he didn’t, so she tried to hold him harder and keep going down on his cock, keep up the rhythm and the twist of her tongue and the ache of her jaw, keep from choking—“Fuck,” he said, “don’t let me, _fuck_ , I need—”

Pepper just kept going, and then he went very still, and said harshly, “Don’t swallow.”

It was the only warning she got, and he was coming—coming as she held him down, thrusting inside her mouth. “Don’t,” he said again, and she could feel his come in her mouth—hot and new and she usually _did_ swallow if she got close enough to someone to do it this way, because—

Letting go of her wrists, his hands scrambled for her face—ripped her mouth away from his cock and then he was kissing her, tongue violently inside of her mouth, swirling and tugging and taking and oh God, he was sucking up his come; he was pulling the come out of her mouth with his tongue, then lapping up the side of her face, her cheek, where he’d got it on her when he pulled away while he was still coming, and he didn’t even seem to care about his cock, just the come—just all that come because he was back in her mouth with his tongue trying to get more of it.

Then he pulled away and Pepper tried to look at him, tried to say something, and then he was kissing her again, and—and the come was still in his mouth; she knew, because he was giving it back to her. Pepper had had a partner—or okay, a couple partners—who would kiss her after oral sex, taste their own come, and that was fairly kinky, but this was the first time she understood exactly why it was called snowballing, because there was more now and he was giving it _all_ to her, putting it back in her mouth.

“Don’t swallow,” he said again; then he was on the floor with her, on his knees, kissing the side of her face again, licking, as though there were still traces of come there—which she guessed there might be, and she—she just had this whole mouthful of come and spit and it was kind of gross but God—God—he was just so—then he was kissing her mouth again, taking it back—oh God, good, because her jaw hurt and contrary to what appeared to be his belief, she did need to swallow _some_ times and it was God, a just a big ball of spit and come and he was sucking it up.

He pushed her down; she was on the floor, he was over her—his mouth visibly full now and then he was kissing her again, giving it back to her, and she wondered whether this was unusual, if this was the way people did it when they seriously engaged in this kink; she should have put it on her spreadsheet. “Don’t swallow,” he whispered. “Last time, I promise.” 

He kissed her neck, her throat—all the places that wanted to swallow, and her mouth was absolutely full; she _wanted_ to swallow but yeah, actually, okay, there was something almost as deeply erotic as it was disgusting that he wanted her to hold his come in his mouth and then he wanted to hold it in his and then he wanted her to hold it again and then he wanted to suck it out of her. He kissed his way back up to her mouth. “Gimme.”

When he kissed her again, he pulled up her hand, put it on his throat and she could feel him swallowing. He sucked the come and spit out of her mouth, and she could feel him swallowing his own come as he took it out of her mouth, his own saliva as he took it out of her mouth, too many exchanges of fluids going down his throat—and his eyes were actually rolling back in his skull, as if it _tasted_ good. As if it was really that good; he was moving it around on his tongue before swallowing, and he was groaning.

That was finally when he slumped against her—as if he’d really only stopped coming once he swallowed it, though he was already done, had been done by the fourth time he’d kissed her. “Jesus,” he said. “Jesus Christ.”

He was lying against her on the floor, and Pepper put her hand in his hair. 

“Christ,” he said again, then kissed her again, moving half on top of her—less of an agenda now, nothing pushed into her mouth this time, just a languid, long, and dirty kiss. Pepper closed her eyes, and tried to remember what it was she wanted.

He kissed her and kissed her, and oh God, making out. Just making out. She didn’t know how long it had been since she’d made out with Tony, but however long it had been, it was too long—and that was stupid, because it was making _out_. She wasn’t sixteen any more. This shouldn’t feel so good, so perfect, like she could just do it forever—getting his tongue tangled with hers and finding the spot behind his ear and nipping little hairy spots along his jaw that made him making tiny, breathy sounds.

Tony kissed down the side of her throat, then started sucking on her neck. It was a good long moment of quiet and soft sucking before she realized what he was doing. “Not there,” Pepper said, and pushed at him.

He just ignored her, kept sucking.

“I said, not there,” Pepper said, and pushed up on him. 

Lazily, he wrapped both her wrists in a single hand, pinned them above her head, and kept sucking, at which point, Pepper realized several things at once.

One was that she was going to need some kind of restraints, and that was okay. She’d given herself a nine for willing on the spreadsheet (for both handcuffs and other). She’d given Tony a seven for likelihood, but that seemed to matter a little less. The trick seemed to be not to ask—just do.

The other thing she realized was that she’d left the category “safe word” off the spreadsheet entirely.

So she kneed him in the balls.

Gasping, he let her go, and she rolled him over. Pressing her knee into his chest, she positioned herself over him. “I said not there,” she said again.

“Jesus,” was all he said, and ran his hands over her stockings, up her thighs, under her skirt. “Keep going.”

It was turning him on.

It took Pepper a moment to realize it, because she hadn’t really intended it that way, and yet it made sense. He’d been turned on by the way she’d pinned his hands when she was blowing him, too; he’d been turned on by the way she’d finally just held him down and sucked him.

Giving him a measuring look, Pepper tried it out. “Hands over your head,” she said.

“Yes, ma’am,” he breathed, and kept his hands on her thighs.

She looked down at him, her hair framing his face, and he just looked up. After a moment she realized he wasn’t even breathing—waiting to see what she would do. “I said, put your hands over your head.”

He began breathing then, but quick—shallow, heat flaring so hot in his eyes it felt like being burned to look at him. His hands tightened on her thighs, and he croaked, “You didn’t say please.”

Pepper wrapped her hands around his wrists and pulled up, hard, yanking them until she could slam them on the floor over his head.

He rolled his hips under her. “I’m getting hard. Again. Already. I didn’t think it was possible, after that—” He lifted his hips again—“extraordinary blow-job.” 

Pepper lifted a brow, smiling. “Extraordinary?”

“Oh, you want compliments?” He tried to bring his hands down, and she held them fast. “I thought my brain was going to leak out of my dick. Pepper.”

“Hm?”

“I think my dick might fall off.”

Pepper looked over her shoulder. “Looks okay to me.”

“Well, maybe, it’s near your ass, but trust me, I just . . . lost my wad in your pretty little mouth and I’m already getting hard again. Surely that’s not natural.”

“I liked you better when you weren’t talking.”

“Feel free to shut me up. I take ass, tit, cunt, and American Express.”

“American Express?”

“I have expensive tastes.”

Pepper held him there, her knee still on his chest, and tried to decide what to do.

“I feel that I’ve been neglecting your tits,” Tony said conversationally. “I haven’t seen nearly enough of them. You know how you fondled them over the phone? I would like to see you fondle them. They deserved to be fondled. They’re quite fondleable. I’m fond of fondling.”

“Shut up,” Pepper said, and tightened her grip on his wrists.

Tony caught his breath, and shut up.

Adjusting her grip, Pepper looked him over. He still had bruises under his eyes. 

He began to say, “Are you going to—”

“I said, shut up.”

He shut up, and appeared to be going slightly mindless with lust. His hips twitched a little and his arms twisted, testing her grip. She tightened her hands, but she knew she couldn’t hold him.

He opened his mouth, then closed it. “Please,” he said.

She adjusted her grip again. “Please what?”

“Make me.” He twisted his arms again, his hips. “Please just make me.”

“Make you what?”

He looked a little startled, licked his lips. “Anything. Just—” His hips twisted again. “Pepper, please. If you don’t, I’m going to . . .”

“You’re going to what?” she asked, interested now.

He shook his head minutely. “Don’t let me.”

“Don’t let you what?”

“Just—don’t let me. Please.” 

Looking down at him, Pepper adjusted the angle of the knee she had planted in his chest, then pressed more sharply.

His breath caught. It caught and caught and caught, and he waited. When she didn’t say anything, he twisted his arms again, pulling his wrists free. She slammed them back down again, and he made a sound. “ _Please_ ,” he said.

“Stay down,” she told him, and then got off of him. When she stood, he stayed down, and then she knew what to do because she’d seen it in stupid movies and dumb pornography. She put her foot on his chest, and it was still in a pump, and she knew some men liked that—she’d have to put it on the spreadsheet—but she couldn’t stand the thought of her heel pressing too sharply into his skin, so she put the heel on the arc reactor and the ball on what there was left of his sternum, and his hips made a little jerking motion.

“Shit,” he whispered.

“I’m going to tell you what to do,” she said.

“Anything,” he croaked. “Anything, tell me any—”

“I said, be quiet.”

He swallowed, looked up at her. He was waiting, and she didn’t know how to do this. He swallowed again, then said, “Could you move your heel a little to the left, because it—”

“Shut up,” she said again, and then did move her heel to the left, and it pushed into the sensitive skin knit up against the metal casing that held the reactor. 

He actually convulsed, his legs coming up and his arms coming down and it almost would have been the fetal position if he’d taken it farther, but he didn’t. “Christ,” he said, wrapping a hand around the top of her foot. “Oh yeah, that’s—”

“Go upstairs and take a shower,” Pepper said, and took her foot away.

“I was imagining something—maybe—”

“You stink.”

He licked his lips again, waited, then said, “You could be a little more graphic in your pejoratives. Like maybe I—”

“You’re going to take a shower,” Pepper said again. “You’re ripe, and I don’t want you touching me.”

“Like that.” His breathing quickened, his hand sliding up her foot to wrap loosely around her ankle. “Just like that.” Three quick breaths. “Please.”

“I don’t know what you want. Go upstairs and—”

“Say it again.”

She looked down at him, and did know what he wanted. For a moment, she had to close her eyes, because she didn’t know why he wanted it. He shouldn’t want this. More importantly, she shouldn’t want to give it to him. She could feel the wet between her thighs. When she spoke, her voice was low. “I don’t want you touching me.”

“More.” His hand tightened around her ankle. “Don’t stop.”

“I don’t want you touching me,” Pepper said. She swallowed. “You’re repulsive.”

“Like that,” he said, his hips jerking. “Jesus.” His other hand moved toward his crotch.

“Don’t even think about it,” she said. 

“Keep going,” he said, pulling her foot back onto his chest. “Don’t stop.”

The way he was _looking_ at her—it was so hungry, so exhausted and hungry and naked, just needy, like she could give him everything, and so she did. “Are you actually getting off on this?” she said. “You’re sick.”

“Christ,” he said, and pulled her foot down harder, grinding her heel into the skin next to his arc reactor.

“You’re filthy,” she told him. 

“Could you just . . .” He tugged her foot down, across his stomach, and she pulled up, trying to keep him from pushing it in too hard. 

“Disgusting,” Pepper said.

“Just—” He tugged her foot again. “Just grind your heel in my crotch— _please—_ ”

“No,” Pepper said, and jerked her foot away. “You need to get cleaned up. Wash yourself; scrub good and hard—then you can touch me.”

“But I—”

“Now, Tony,” she said, in a gentler voice. “Stand up.”

He scrambled to stand, and she didn’t even know what she was going to do—whether she was supposed to sneer or turn her back on him or tell him he was worthless, and all of it was hot and turned her on but she couldn’t tell him he was worthless; she just couldn’t, and then he was kissing her. He was kissing her and kissing her and kissing her, deep and full—so deeply that her head was bending back and he was holding her, and she had to pull back. “I thought—”

“I know,” said Tony. “I just—you’re delicious; you’re perfect—” He kissed her again, and she pulled away.

“I thought you were going to go take a shower.”

“I know,” he said again. He was pulling up her skirt, wrapping his hand around her thigh. “But you’re so good; I thought maybe—”

Pepper swallowed, wondering if he was testing her. “Go take a shower,” she said, her voice unsteady.

“I thought maybe I could bend you over my work table—”

“Tony—”

“Or you could bend me over it; I wouldn’t object; I swear; trust me, I have lots of lubricant in here—”

“Tony—”

“Oil, grease. Trust me. I could get you dirty—” His hand moved further up her thigh—“Jesus, I could get you filthy—”

“Tony—”

“God, smear you up, everywhere, you and me—”

“Go take a shower.”

“Okay,” he said, and let her go. He turned off the digital projections. “Hey,” he said, turning back to her. “Wanna come with me?”

“Go,” Pepper said.

“”Kay,” he said again, shrugging, then turned around and walked over to the stairs. 

Slowly turning, Pepper watched as he went up the stairs, and disappeared from view. 

For a moment, she had to sit down.

She’d done things like this before with boyfriends. She’d told them to sit down and shut up; she’d told them to let her do what she wanted; she’d tied them up and fucked them, and it was rather nice. What she had never done before was told someone that she cared about that they were disgusting. She’d done it because he’d wanted it, and heaven help her, it got her wet, and Pepper didn’t know what that meant.

Humiliation was on her spreadsheet. She’d thought about it, but they—they hadn’t talked about this, and knowing Tony, he _wouldn’t_. Tony wasn’t good at talking about things—especially things like this. He was always so _sarcastic_ about his father, and refused to even talk about Obadiah, and when news reporters said things like, “Has Stark Industries stopped taking weapons contracts because you feel guilty about the lives your company has taken?” Tony looked at them blankly and said, “I don’t know what that word means.”

Tony didn’t waste time being sorry. He wasn’t crippled by remorse. He thought self-hatred was a waste of time, but just because guilt wasn’t in his lexicon didn’t mean that it wasn’t a fundamental part of his being. He probably didn’t care if it was. Knowing it was there would just get in his way.

Slowly, Pepper took off her shoes, one by one. Then she picked them up by the heels, and followed Tony up the stairs.

* 

When Pepper finally got an apartment in L.A., Kitty came with her. She never did get a real name; Pepper wasn’t good at naming things, and Stark’s suggestions all involved the word “spunk.”

Keeping a cat wasn’t Pepper’s best idea ever. She was gone frequently, sometimes for more than a day at a time, and she often make trips to New York. This was how she got to know Leona, who started out as her cat-sitter, staying in Pepper’s apartment while Pepper was out of town. After a while, they became friends. Leona was Pepper’s first friend in L.A. In a lot of ways, Leona was still Pepper’s only friend in L.A., unless you counted Happy and Stark. Pepper had begun to count Happy. She didn’t count Stark.

On the way back from the airport, Happy dropped off Stark first. Sometimes Pepper took a taxi home, but more often than not there was business to conduct with Stark on the way back to his house, and at his house—making sure his things got to the dry cleaners, making sure the files she’d put in the briefcase that he never used got put back in their proper place, making sure he remembered to do the things he’d promised at the meetings they’d been to in New York, making sure he set his watch back to the proper time. After all of that, Happy drove her home, and most days, he picked Leona up at Pepper’s, and drove Leona home too.

It was sort of on his way back to Stark’s, and eventually Pepper stopped feeling bad about asking Happy to do it. “Really no trouble,” Happy said, after a dozen times or so.

“Do you . . .” Pepper hesitated. “Do you want to come up? I’m sure Leona would love to stay for coffee, and we could . . . chat.” It felt awkward, all of the sudden, to invite someone for coffee who was not a potential business connection, who was no one other than someone she very much liked.

Happy smiled at her in the rearview mirror. “Yeah,” he said. “Okay.”

They went upstairs, and Pepper made coffee. Leona seemed delighted to stay, and Pepper was a very good conversationalist, so none of it was awkward at all, except for the fact that she couldn’t remember the last time she had friends—friends like people said you were supposed to have. The kinds who didn’t talk about work.

Except they were sort of talking about work after all, because Happy was telling Leona a story about Stark, and Leona was laughing uproariously.

“How do you even work for him?” Leona said, when she could stop laughing long enough.

“Sometimes I honestly don’t know,” said Pepper, and sipped her coffee.

“Miss Potts gives him what-for,” said Happy.

“So you say. Pepper.” Leona put down her cup. “Tell me the truth, now. Is he insane? I mean, clinically. In the head.”

“He’s not clinically insane,” Pepper said. “But he might be in the head.”

Leona shook her head. “How do you stand it?”

“Sometimes I don’t,” Pepper said.

“Sometimes I think she’s going to throw him out of the car,” Happy said.

“That would be cruel.” Pepper took another sip of coffee. “I promise that when I murder Tony Stark, I won’t involve you in the crime at all.”

Happy chuckled. “Not even to put the body bag in the trunk?” 

“I know people for that.”

“I think one of them is me.” Happy downed the rest of his coffee. “You know I’d be your willing accomplice.”

“I think I’ll stay a cat-sitter,” said Leona. “I hardly ever want to murder my employers.”

Pepper smiled. “Glad to hear it.”

Batting a hand at her, Leona said, “You know what I mean. How did you even get that job?”

Pepper could have told her the story of the long line of Stark’s secretaries. She’d done it often, and it was a funny story. She could also say that she really cared about Stark Industries and wanted what was best for the company, which was sometimes what she said when business-people from other corporations wanted to steal her away. Instead, for once, Pepper just told the truth. “I was bored.”

“Bored?” Happy said, raising his brows.

“It’s interesting.” Pepper set her cup down carefully. “I like to be good at things. I’m really good at this.”

“Couldn’t you also be good at . . .” Leona waved a hazy hand. “Spelunking?”

Pepper smiled. “I’ve tried spelunking. No.”

“You used to work in corporate relations,” Happy said. “That wasn’t interesting enough?”

Pepper picked up her cup again. “I guess not.”

“But . . .” Leona trailed off, pressing her lips together. “Doesn’t that just mean you spend your life . . . doing what he wants?”

 _What do you_ want _?_

Every boyfriend Pepper had ever had had asked her that. Val had asked her that, and Gene had asked her that. Mom still asked her that. The trouble was, Pepper had never really been certain of what she wanted. She just knew what she was good at.

“It’s a little more complicated than that,” Pepper said. “It’s finding out what he wants, and finding out what’s best. Then it’s about making him think he wants what’s best, and doing what’s best, and making him think it’s what he wanted all along.”

“What’s best?” Leona asked.

Happy was petting Kitty.

“That’s what I want,” said Pepper.

*

While Tony showered, Pepper got what she needed, then lay on the bed to wait. At last she heard the water turn off.

When Tony came into the bedroom, he was scrubbing a towel over his hair, and wearing nothing else. “Oh,” he said, when he saw her on the bed. He brought the towel down around his neck. “Hi there.”

“Come over here,” Pepper said.

“I don’t know.” Tony didn’t move, kept his hands on the towel around his neck. “I’m sort of enjoying the view.”

Her shoes were off; she’d left them by the door. Otherwise she was dressed exactly has she had been downstairs—blouse and skirt and stockings. “Come over here,” she said again.

Tony looked at her, then looked around the room. “Miss Potts, I think you’re trying to—”

“Get over here,” Pepper said. “Right now.”

“Okay.” Tony pulled the towel off, dropping it as he came over to the bed. He put his knee on the mattress, then climbed the rest of the way up. “You’re definitely seducing me,” he said, and kissed her.

Pepper kissed him back, hands sinking into his wet hair. They slid down his neck, his shoulders; then she was touching his chest and he was pulling back a little—“I’m very—” Pepper pushed him, rolling him over and climbing on top. “—Sensitive,” Tony finished saying. “Right there.” Her hands still covered his chest.

She held him there for a moment, just held him, her hair curtaining them, the light of his arc reactor glowing on her face. He looked up at her. “God,” he said. “You’re really beautiful.”

She pushed down a little on his chest, just above the arc reactor.

“No,” he said, “I really mean it.” His hands came up, squeezed her thighs. “You look better than one of my suits.”

Smirking, she raised a brow. “Is that a compliment?”

“It’s supposed to be, yeah.” His hands came up farther, sliding under her skirt. “I’ve thought about using you for parts, but I can’t. You’re too good whole. I couldn’t build something better.”

“That’s sweet, Tony.”

“Isn’t it?” He leaned up, tried to kiss her, but she held him down. “I can’t wait to see your pussy again. I keep its picture under my pillow, you know. I hear it missed me.”

“And you said you weren’t in the mood.”

“You changed my mind.” He shifted under her, hands all the way up her skirt now, but not moving toward the center. “Do you know what I really like about it?” He didn’t wait for an answer. “How tight it is. Really. You’ve got this ridiculously tight little snatch that just—”

“I may have to gag you.”

“Okay.” Swallowing, he waited. “Pepper?”

“You’re ridiculous,” she said, and kissed him. As she pushed her tongue in his mouth, she pulled up his arm. Pulling off of his mouth, she felt for the handcuffs she’d attached to the headboard.

“I just really like you,” he said. “That thing you did with your shoes—”

She clicked the cuff around his wrist, and he stopped talking.

For five seconds.

“Oh,” he said. He looked at the cuffs, pulling back his wrist. The cuff held, rattling on the bar of the headboard, and Tony looked back at her. “Impressive.”

“I thought so,” said Pepper. Her hand moved down to his cock. It was clean and soft between them, but she could already feel it stiffening up.

He licked his lips. Looking at the cuff, he rattled it again. “You know, I can easily get out of this if—”

“I know,” she said, and kissed him again. As she kissed him, she maneuvered his other arm into place, and snapped the other cuff on him. The other set of handcuffs was attached to the other side of the bed.

“Oh,” he said again. “Two.” He tugged on both of them at once, then turned back to her—the slightest bit breathless. “Who left these here?” He sounded excited—in his Tony way—energy thick and dense under his words. 

Pepper climbed off of him.

“Um.” He tugged the cuffs again. “Pepper,” he said. “Now you’re supposed to—aren’t you going to feel me up?”

“No.” Pepper got all the way off the bed. “JARVIS, lights up.” They had been dimmed before, but when JARVIS brightened them, she could see him—arms spread out, forced from his body, turning his shoulders at awkward angles. He was completely naked, half-hard, and scars wound away from the arc reactor in the center of his chest like rays from a tiny sun. There were other scars on his body. They were all over him.

Pepper wanted to do this, but God, she needed a drink.

“Help yourself,” Tony said, a little sarcastically, when she went over to the cabinet she knew held his liquor. “On second thought,” he said, “are you getting any for me?”

She poured herself a glass of his whiskey, then put the cap back on the bottle. Lifting the glass, she swirled the drink, then took a sip. Even though he bought the fancy stuff that was supposed to go down much smoother than the cheap shit she’d had when she first tried whiskey, she still didn’t like it much. Smoothing down her grimace, she turned around. “I want you to tell me what Fury said.”

Tony tugged on a cuff.

Pepper took another sip, and waited.

“Fury?” Tony said at last. “Nick Fury? Are you trying to kill the mood here?”

“I don’t care about the mood,” Pepper said. “Tell me.”

Tony’s eyes traveled down the length of her, lingering on her feet. He glanced at the ceiling, then back at her. “You’re making this out to be a bigger deal than it is.”

“So?” Pepper drained her glass, then set it on top of the cabinet. She sat down in the chair, about a yard from the bed, and uncapped the bottle again. “Tell me.”

He stared at her for a while. When he finally spoke, his voice lacked intonation. It was completely flat. “He said I couldn’t be an Avenger.”

Pepper paused in the midst of pouring the whiskey, then finished. “The Avengers Initiative? I thought you were already a part of that.”

Tony shook his head minutely. “Fury says no.”

“But you’re the one who went to Ross.”

Tony tugged his cuffs again. “Ross didn’t have Banner. Christ. Who knows. Maybe Banner doesn’t even want to; maybe that’s why he’s on the run. Maybe he just wants to have fun with it however he chooses.”

Pepper’s chest went tight. Fury should have never ever told him Howard had helped start S.H.I.E.L.D. God, Fury was a bastard. “Why did he say you can’t be an Avenger?”

Tony shrugged—as well as he could shrug with his hands cuffed to either side of the headboard. “I don’t play well with others.”

“And he just decided this? Out of the blue?”

“Oh, he worked up a full report. He had one of his agents spy on me.”

“You mean Coulson?”

“Coulson is about as subtle as a brick house. Natalie.”

“Oh. Right. Natasha. She said you didn’t play well with others?”

For a moment, Tony was silent. “Can’t really blame her,” he said finally.

Picking up the glass of whiskey, Pepper stood up. She brought it over to him, and held it to his mouth. “Drink,” she said, and when he opened up, she poured a little in. She put the drink on the nightstand and sat down beside him. “What else did the report say?”

He tried to angle to look at her—difficult, because she was right beside his head. “This is about the unsexiest thing I’ve ever done while chained up,” he said. “I just want you to know.”

“Telling me the truth?”

“It doesn’t matter,” said Tony.

“It matters to me.” 

He just frowned, expression otherwise inscrutable. “I want the fun kind of torture.”

“Tell me what else was on that report.”

He tugged the cuffs. “Know what? I’m not in the mood anymore.”

“I am.” Moving down the bed, Pepper pulled up her skirt so that she could spread her legs, then straddled him. “Tell me.” When he didn’t say anything, she traced the scar starting on the far side of his left pectoral, following it inward with her nail, right up to the edge of the reactor casing.

“Stop,” he said. “And I don’t mean to ‘go’ kind of stop; I mean stop.”

“No,” Pepper said, and pressed in her nail, right at the edge of the reactor. She leaned in, kissed him.

He angled his face away.

“Tell me,” she whispered.

He jerked the cuffs so hard she thought the bed might move, but it didn’t. “What the fuck do you want, Pepper? He said I wasn’t good enough. Is that what you want to hear?”

“Yes,” Pepper said quietly.

“Christ.” Tony rolled his eyes. “Don’t sound so motherfucking sad. For all I know the goddamn bastard has a point, and it doesn’t matter; it doesn’t _change_ anything; I’m just going to keep doing what I’m doing.”

“Tony.” Pepper covered his arc reactor with both hands.

“Dammit, Pepper.” He jerked the cuffs so that they rattled again. “Don’t feel _sorry_ for me. I don’t fucking care whether some shithead thinks I’m fucking worthy. I don’t fucking care.”

“I care.”

“Well, don’t.”

Leaning toward it, Pepper brushed a finger over one of his cuffs. “You want me to let you out?”

“If you’re going to lecture me, yes.”

Pepper got off of him, off the bed, went to one of his closets.

“That’s not where I keep the keys,” he called.

“Lights,” Pepper told JARVIS, and then selected one of his nicest ties. She tried to find the most expensive one, too, then came back into the bedroom. Picking the keys off of the nightstand, she showed Tony both. She asked, “Keys or tie?”

He glanced at her, then back down at the keys. “Depends on what you’re going—”

“Choose,” Pepper said.

Tony looked up at her. Something ticked in his jaw, and he looked back down at the offerings in her hand. “Tie,” he said.

“You should never say okay when you don’t know what you’re saying okay to,” Pepper said, and put the key on the bedside table.

“I didn’t say okay; I said—”

Pepper laid the tie across his mouth, and there was anything he could do; his wrists were still cuffed. Pulling up his head, she wrapped the tie behind it, then pulled the narrow band of it across his mouth again. “Open,” she said. He stared at her, his eyes as black as earth, and she said, “Open up, Tony.” He opened his mouth, and she pushed it in, then lifted his head against to tie it tightly behind. “Say my name,” she whispered, when she was done.

“ _Eh-uh_ ,” he said, muffled and indistinct behind the tie.

“Good,” she whispered, then climbed on top of him again, straddling his hips. His cock was already a little hard again. Leaning back, she untucked her blouse from her skirt. Then she pulled it off over her head, and dropped it over the side of the bed. She reached behind her back for the clasps of her bra.

Tony made a muffled sound, his eyes a little larger.

Pepper pulled off her bra, and dropped that over the side too. “You wanted to watch me fondle them,” she said, lifting her breasts. “Watch me fondle them.”

Tracing her thumbs around the areolae, Pepper made a little sound, bit her lip, then told him, “You’re good enough. I don’t care what anyone says. What Fury says.” She brought her thumbs in closer to her nipples, gasping a little. “You’re good enough. You’re good enough for me. Nod your head.” 

He stared at her, so Pepper grabbed his hair. “Nod your head like you understand.”

He tilted his chin, but it wasn’t a nod; it was defiance, so Pepper tilted his head back farther and scratched her nails across one of the scars on his chest. “Nod,” she said.

He made a sound, a low, good sound, and nodded.

“Sometimes I think this is the only way you’ll listen to me,” Pepper said. “Do you want to suck on my breast?”

He nodded quickly that time, and she kissed his gagged mouth, tongue pressing on the tie, and his tongue held tight beneath the band of fabric. “If I sat on your face,” she said, pulling away, hands on his cheeks, “you could feel me getting wetter. You could feel me _dripping_ onto you—against your lips. Against this tie. Into your mouth, and there wouldn’t be anything you could do. You’d just have to lie there, getting wet from my pussy. Would that make you sorry?”

He hesitated, then quickly shook his head no.

“Do you want me to do that?” Pepper ask. “Let my pussy drip on you?”

Up and down, yes.

“This shouldn’t be the only way you’ll listen to me.” She kissed him over the gag again, sucking on his lower lip before pulling away. “I picked you. I picked you because I think you are good, and special—” He tried to turn his face away, and she jerked him back by the chin. “Yes, I’m lecturing you, and yes, you just have to lie there and take it. You wanted to be my boyfriend. Let me tell you what I do with my boyfriends. Do you want to know?”

Very very quick up and down, yes.

“I find out what they want,” Pepper said, reaching down between her legs to wrap her hand around his cock. “Then I give it to them.” She tugged. “Sometimes I’m not very good at it. Lots of times I find out that what they want is commitment, and I can’t give it to them. They want something stable, and I can’t give them that, either. They want a woman who’s not going to drop everything when Tony Stark gives her a ring—someone who’s not going to stop in the middle of sex to answer the phone. Do you know that I did that? I did that once, Tony.” 

Pepper eased down his body a little bit, so that she could reach with her other hand too, cupping his balls. “You had some stupid problem—you wanted tickets to some stupid game; you didn’t even want to go; you wanted to impress someone on the board—he was undressing me and I was going to make him come, and instead I answered the phone. I don’t even know why. It was like—I couldn’t help it.”

Tony made another sound. Pepper got off of him, and slid her skirt and underwear off. When she got back on the bed, she put her middle finger against the gag. “Get it wet,” she said, and dragged it along his tongue, worked it behind the gag. He was trying to suck it—an impossible feat, but she knew he was trying. “And this one,” she said, and put another finger against the gag.

“Okay,” Pepper said. Taking a pillow from beside his head, she slid down his body again, and opened his legs. “Lift,” she said, and jerked up on the undersides of his knees. When he lifted, she wedged the pillow under him, then kept wedging. He must have realized what she was doing, because he lifted for her, then settled his ass on the pillow. “That’s good,” she said, then pushed one of her wet fingers between the cheeks of his ass. When she found his asshole, she said, “That’s good” again, and pushed her finger in.

He made a strained, animal sound, coming up off the bed, and she knew it wasn’t very nice. It had to hurt, and she wanted to hurt him; she just didn’t want to damage him, so she left her finger there and made soothing little sounds, petting the scars on his chest. 

“Do you like that?” she asked quietly, when he settled down a little—his ass back on the pillow. “Tony?” she said, and tried to wiggle her finger a little. It was too tight, and he made another muffled sound. “Nod your head yes,” she said.

He nodded vigorously, four or five times.

“Good,” she said, and kissed his knee. “I said I was going to give you what you want. Do you know what you want?”

She saw him hesitate, and he looked so good like this, arms splayed open, drooling around the gag, lips spread wide. His cock was hard between his legs and those were open too—everything was open and ready and it made her heart ache, that she got him like this. She got him like this completely; he was hers.

Slowly, he shook his head no.

“I’ve been trying to figure it out too,” Pepper said. She pushed her finger a little; his eyes rolled back in his head and he pushed up into it. “I’ve been told that I’m messed up,” said Pepper. “I’ve been told that I’m a freak—because I find it hard to care for things as much as I care about work. Because I’m really good at pretending that I care, but I’m bad at caring, deep down. I’m a nice, sweet girl, Tony. But on the inside, I’m not any better than you.”

She shoved another finger in and she knew it had to burn. She couldn’t imagine him doing this to her—pain could be fun, a little of it, but not this way, not with absolutely zero lubrication, and she didn’t know what it meant, that she felt perfectly fine, doing it to him. She waited until he was doing thrashing, until the noise he was making through the gag died down. He was really, really tight inside, and the burn had to be intense. “I’ve found out,” Pepper said, “I don’t really care.” 

She took her fingers out, and he made a wounded sound. Then she climbed on top of him, straddling herself over him, positioning his cock at her entrance. When she began to work her way down, she went on, “You’re not sick. You don’t repulse me. I will say those things to you all that you want me to, but only if you know that I will never, ever mean them.” Then she was down, all the way down, her ass resting against his balls, his cock all the way inside of her. “I chose you,” she said. “I choose you out of everyone, and it didn’t happen by accident. It happened because you’re my favorite.”

He made a sound, jerking against the cuffs, and she couldn’t even tell whether he was trying to move into her, or trying to move away. His head turned away, as though he couldn’t hold her eyes. As Pepper rose up, she leaned in and reached down, turning his chin toward her. “You can shut me out. I know you will.” She sank back down. “You don’t have to tell me everything. I know you won’t. But you should know.” She leaned in so that her lips were by his ear, her breasts brushing his chest, her body rising off of his cock. “I’ll do what you want. Anything.”

He made another sound, hips jerking.

“I will go down on you,” she whispered, sinking down, surrounding his cock with herself. “I will fuck you. I will put anything you want me to up your ass until you beg for mercy; I will put anything you want me to up _my_ ass; I will let you fist me; I will let you tie me down and whip me; I will fuck you with the heel of my shoe—”

He was thrashing under her and she was moving on his cock achingly slow.

She put her hand around his throat. “I will choke you, if you want me to; I will hurt you; I will rim you; I will dress up for you and I will spank you; I will have sex with you in a semi-public place of my choosing; I will watch porn with you; I will walk you like a dog.”

He was talking through the gag—she could tell he was talking, yelling, maybe, but she just tightened her hand, and kept going.

“I will tell you about all the men who have fucked me,” she said. “I’ll let you come all over me; I’ll let you come in my hair. I will work a glass tube down the slit of your cock, if you want it; I will let you cut me in safe places; I will wear a plug all day for you; I will put on in you and make it vibrate when you least expect it. I will make you suck my cock because I will wear one for you, whenever you want.”

Practically every word she said was making him writhe, but he couldn’t get any traction; he could only wildly hump his hips and fall into the danger of pulling himself out completely, with the pace she was going.

“The only thing you have to do,” she said, “is tell me what you want. Promise.”

He hesitated.

“I refuse to second guess myself,” Pepper said, still going too slow. “I refuse to worry that I’m not giving you what you need. I refuse to fail, Tony Stark, just because you think that _you_ will. Nod your head to say you understand.”

Quickly, he nodded his head.

“Good,” Pepper said. “Now, come.” Rising up, she reached behind her, grabbed his balls—and he came.

He thrust up, straining. Pepper rode it out, then reached down, and jerked off the gag. What came out of his mouth was a hell of a lot of obscenities, and words that sounded sort of like variations of her name, and something a lot like _please_. “Please please please please please _Pepper_ fuck _please_ ,” until he finally slowed down enough for her to say:

“Please what?”

His hips were still slowing down, and his voice was like a chant. “Please take me down I want to touch you I need to touch you please please please I love you I need it take me down take me please please please—”

“Okay,” she said, and slowly eased him out of her.

“Good, that’s good; you’re so good; now get the keys, that’s right, you’re so good, that’s it, honey, just do it please please, bring it, unlock it, please please unlock it—”

She unlocked one of his hands, and he grabbed her chin, kissing her wild and messy, his lips swollen large from the gag. “God, get the other one off,” he said, ripping his mouth away. “My come—my come is in your cunt; I can’t just—just—get it _off_ ; please Pepper; please honey, please—”

His hand was reaching between her legs as she pulled off the other cuff. “Jesus, please,” he said, and flipped her over. Then he was holding her down, moving down her body.

It was marvelous and strange, she mused, how much he seemed to like being tied up, told what to do, but it was as though he couldn’t _help_ himself; as soon as he was free he needed to be in control. Thus the cuffs, she supposed, and she felt rather satisfied that she had figured it out, that she had him figured out, now, and knew exactly what to do with him—

He was spreading her thighs. “Jesus, you’re all messy,” he said. “It’s all messy.”

Pepper never thought she would have used the word ‘swooped’ in this way, but he did—he swooped down, put his mouth on her vulva, tongue directly over her entrance, and she yanked him up by the hair. “What are you doing?”

“I have this—your cunt—my come; it’s—I need it— _right now—_ you said—”

“Slow down,” Pepper told him.

“I have this problem,” Tony said. “My come is in your cunt and I need it right the fuck now.”

“Okay,” she said, and spread her legs wider.

He dove in again—yes, really, _dove_ —sucking and licking and she hadn’t actually come. She didn’t know if he knew that, but she hadn’t, but she just might now—she really just might—

Hearing herself cry out, she lifted her hips, holding his head between her legs, and she didn’t care if he was just trying to clean all of his come out of her, he was good at this. He was really, really good at this, and she was jerking against his face, then settling down—down and down and down, and he poked his head up from between her legs.

Then he spit on her stomach—directly on her stomach, and she knew what it was—it was a mess of his spit and her secretions and his come, and that was really, truly disgusting, and she just didn’t care. He was dragging it around her abdomen with his tongue—he shouldn’t be doing that—who did that? Who did that with their own come?—but he kept going, swirling it into her navel, lapping it up, dragging it all over with his tongue and then licking it up, swallowing.

At last he’d licked most of it off of her, swallowing it all. Pepper ran a hand through his hair as he lapped the last of it off her stomach. “Is this why you always want a condom?”

“I have a problem,” he murmured. “It’s an addiction. It’s only just above the level of sucking it out of latex.” He swirled his tongue in her navel again. “I hate latex. Unless it’s gloves. I don’t suck come out of condoms. That’s gross.”

“You just suck it out of everything else.”

He put his chin on her abdomen, scratchy hair against a place he’d licked sensitive. “You said I could do anything.”

“Within reason.”

The corner of his mouth twitched. His eyes were dancing. “You didn’t say that part.” 

“It was assumed,” said Pepper. She moved her hand in his hair, feeling the coarse strands wrap around her fingers, and releasing. “I don’t care if you’re a come slut, Tony. I like it.”

“Come slut is putting it mildly.” Leaning back, he pulled her legs up, bending them at the knee, then put the side of his face on her knee and looked at her, just looked. “I meant what I said.”

“When?”

“Whenever.” Tony kissed the top of her knee. “There was a point when I was babbling. But I meant it all, whatever I said.”

“Okay,” said Pepper, because she wasn’t going to remind him.

“Can we really do everything?”

She kept curling her hands in his hair. “Yes.”

“All of it?”

“Yes.”

“How ‘bout in public?” said Tony. “Can we do that one?”

“In a place of my choosing.”

“And you’ll fuck me with your shoe? Really?”

Pepper smiled. “You can choose which ones.”

“I really like feet,” Tony said. “I want to suck your toes. I want my tongue _between_ your toes. I want to slide my cock against your foot and get myself off with it.”

“You can do that,” said Pepper. “I’ll watch.”

“You know what I really really like?”

“What?”

“You’re in your stockings. You tied me up and gagged me and rode me and put your fingers in my ass and you still have on your little schoolgirl stockings.”

“These aren’t schoolgirl stockings.”

“But will you wear schoolgirl stockings?” Tony put the side of his face on her knees again. “That’s the real question. Will you dress up like a schoolgirl and pretend like you’re fifteen and let me fuck you as you tell me how you lost your cherry, because Pepper, that’s the kind of thing I want. It’s the kind of thing—”

“I was sixteen.”

“What?”

“I was sixteen when I lost my virginity,” Pepper said, “and I will tell you exactly how it happened, though it’s not a sexy story, and I will pretend to be a schoolgirl if you want, but I should warn you I’m a terrible actress.”

“Good.” His hand closed over the top of her foot. “I don’t care. We’re going to do so many things. There are so many things, Pepper.”

“I’m looking forward to them.”

“Are you?” Tony squeezed her foot. “Because if you are, we should make a list and—”

“I already did.”

He stopped squeezing her foot. “What?”

“I made a list,” Pepper said.

He swallowed. “You made a list of . . . sex?”

Pepper nodded. “I thought maybe—I didn’t want you to lose interest. I made a spreadsheet.”

His gaze dropped. He squeezed her foot again, unsqueezed it. Squeezed it. When he spoke, his voice was low. “Why did you think that?”

“You’re the one who said—anyway, it doesn’t matter.” Pepper just kept carding her hands through his hair. “Now you know, and you’re going to tell me.” She touched his face. “All the things you want.”

Tony lifted his eyes. “Everything,” he said. He moved to kiss her. “I’m going to tell you everything.”


End file.
